Represented!

It worked, it worked, it worked! Oh my gosh, I'm a happy gal! Today was my phone meeting with Anne Hawkins. But perhaps we'll go over the very brief back story.

Remember how I said I crashed and burned with the first batch of query letters I sent out? (There were seven of them, and I sensed my dismal failure, so I didn't send out tons).

This time I made a list of the agents I would like most to represent me, and then I focused on my very favorite few- my "Dream Team," if you will. At the head of that list was Anne Hawkins who is one of four agents at John Hawkins & Associates, LLC.  They represent Joyce Carol Oates, Gregory McGuire, they brokered the first million dollar book deal in the history of publishing, and have quite a few books on the New York Times Best Seller List. Anne was the pie in the sky.

So I wrote to her, and she e-mailed back really quickly (within the week) asking for the first 50 pages. I sent those, and two days later she asked for the full manuscript. Exactly one (excruciating) week later, she e-mailed saying she really liked my book and could we talk on the phone?

Today was that conversation at 3:00, after working a full day with kiddos and using almost all my 15,000 words up. Here's how the conversation went:
I called the number she gave me at exactly 3:00, and it connected with the receptionist at JHALIT who transfered me.
Anne: Liz! Hello!
Me: Hi, Anne! How are you?
A: Great! Did you take your punctuality pill today, or what?
M: Are you kidding? It was all I could do not to call you first thing this morning.

Insert lots of casual banter here. Then she got down to business.
A: Liz, this book has legs.
M: I'm happy to hear you say that.
A: Let me tell you what I see in this book: It's set in a small town, and Americans LOVE that. And it's Southern fiction, which editors are begging for. It's got substance and LOTS to talk about in it.

She went on to say the only thing that needs a little bit of tweaking is pacing here and there. But she assured me these are small fixes and that she's splitting hairs so we won't give any editors a reason to turn us away.

So she's going to read it again this weekend with sticky notes and  red pen and make some notes. Then I'm going to revise it again, and we're going to pitch it to a few editors and publishing houses that she's got an idea will buy this book.

She made some excellent points about the publishing industry that I'd never thought of:
For one thing, she said it's not always better to go with the mega publishing houses. They have all kinds of books out in the market. None of them have to do extremely well for them to stay in business. They can all do quasi-well, and the business will still make money. -So they're not super motivated to take care of their authors or publicize the heck out of their work.

On the other hand, mid sized houses NEED their authors to do well, and they'll go to any length to make sure that happens. They treat their authors really well, give them excellent cover art, good publicity, and great placement on shelves across the country.
And when it comes time to know which houses are which, Anne said, "...And I know where the bodies are buried." To which I responded, "Well that's a good thing, because I don't know where ANY of the bodies are!"

She said she would categorize my book as Up Market Women's Fiction, which apparently roughly 90% of books that sell are sold in this genre. She said it's the perfect book club book, since there is substance and SO much to talk about.

Several times Anne said, "Liz, this is a really, really good book." -But not in the blowing smoke up my ass kind of way. Just in the way one might mention a particularly tasty sandwich or lovely sunset. It's just well done and she said so. -Which I appreciated.

So she sent me some stuff to read about the publishing industry, and I'm going to write down questions.  She'll read my book again this weekend, and next week we'll speak again to compare notes.

I forgot to mention the title, and neither did she. I'm not sure if it will stay or if it is salable. And I'm not sure I love it. But we'll get to that point when we get there. That might be a question for the in-house editor.

When I got off the phone a half an hour later, I was calm and pleased. I felt like I had just spoken with my aunt or old family friend, like I have known Anne forever. I'm sure she has my best interest at heart, and I think we will go far together... for many years.

What If...

If you've been following the book progress on Facebook, then you know I've got some interest in my work from a couple of different literary management agencies.

First, let me just say how surreal this is! It's one thing to sit in your tiny guest bedroom/office/library in Washington State crafting a novel; it's something else entirely when you try to launch that book into the public. When you're writing it, at times you think you're Shakespeare, and at other times, you think it's pure drivel. But mostly you can picture people plunking down their cold, hard cash to read your baby.

Then it comes time to launch that book. I admit with my first effort to find a literary agent, I had half an idea what I was doing, and then I misspelled the title of my OWN DAMN BOOK in the very first query I wrote! -Alas. It was embarrassing, but as you can see- I've moved on. That agent that I flubbed the letter to was a great agent, but in hindsight- not the one for me. She didn't bother to respond to my query, and- frankly- who can blame her?

So this time I was systematic. I was methodical. I felt guilty for putting my girls in childcare so I could spend eight hours a day cranking out letters and synopses and first fifty page sets.

But... there is light at the end of this tunnel! This time I've received five "No thank yous," and two "maybes!" And then the two maybes turned into two "please give us more!" And now...

The agent of my dreams has been trading friendly e-mails with me a couple of times a day, and I feel like I will know something by Friday. Maybe she'll finish my manuscript and will pass, but...
I feel like she will offer me representation.

Could Joyce Carol Oates and Gregory McGuire (the guy who wrote Wicked) and I all be represented by the same firm? Dare I even hope?

And this is the point of this musing. Yes, I do think I dare. I spoke for a while with my dear, dear friend Annette today. And she asked me a very good question. It went something like this:
Annette: "Are you ecstatic?!"
Me: "Yes, I think so. Mostly I'm hopeful."
Annette: "You get to dream right now, and you get to hope. Don't miss this time."

I went about my business this afternoon and pondered my friend's words. There are times in your life where you prepare and plan and HOPE. When you're dating the person who will be your partner, you dream, and hope, and plan. And you swoon with joy and the newness of it all.

When you're pregnant with your baby, you dream, and hope, and plan. And you swoon with the joy and newness of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, this is one of those times. I'm beginning to dream, and hope, and plan. And tonight I'm swooning with the joy and newness of it all.

I don't know what the next phases will look like. But for tonight, Bob and I were talking and planning and dreaming.
It looks like something will happen with my book. Something little or something big, it's really looking like I'll make it into print and on to bookshelves. -And strangers who don't know me and won't feel obligated because they're my cousins will purchase my books, my words.

And I will travel to book stores and speak to these readers. Maybe they will be Mom & Pop booksellers in the Kansas and Missouri region. (Maybe I can come speak at Orca in Oly). -Of course I'm thinking I will need a cute little J. Crew trousseau. Maybe four or five outfits I wear when on the road.

And maybe... it will grow larger!

The maybes could be stressful if you let them be. But they are also kind of fun. It's like looking through the Toys 'R Us catalogue before Christmas time when you're little and have no concept of money or budget or Reaganomics and its toll on your small family business.
The possibilities are endless. And shiny. And what if it all comes true?

You know I love to talk and wear J. Crew clothes. Sign me  up for book tour! Oh, and maybe my dream agent will call me by the end of the week. A girl can dream, and hope, and plan. And maybe... swoon a little bit.

Fake It 'Til You Make It...

I'm a runner. I think about running, dream about running, write about running, and run when I'm not supposed to. But lately I haven't felt like a runner, and I haven't even felt the desire to run! 

This is a strange development. Rest assured I've got all the excuses in the world to support my lack of running presently: I'm tired! (True... two kids and a busy schedule will do that to you). I'm busy! (Yes, same, same). My body hurts! (Yep. Duh- it's out of shape right now). It's HOT! (Okay, there's no two ways around this one. It is crazy hot here in Kansas. Like soul melting hot. But I do have a treadmill. And if I can make myself run in this heat now, I'm sure running in the fall will be downright delightful).

I've never understood people who aren't motivated to run. Why WOULDN'T you get out there and run?! Sure you are dragging when you start, but it's SO worth it when you're finished. You've got less stress, fewer toxins, more energy, more muscle tone, lower resting heartbeat, lower percentage of body fat,  you look better in your clothes, you're part of a running community... I could go on and on! 

In the effort to kick my own ass into gear, I'm blogging about the end of my running hiatus. And for a little extra motivation, I went back and looked through some of my racing pictures. These aren't all of them... I don't want to bore you. But what I noticed in nearly all of my races, is that I have a tiny sidekick, support system, cheering section: Margot. Take a look:

My first race after the c-section to deliver Margot. It was a Thanksgiving Day 5K, and I was still dragging about 30 extra pounds. But I made it! -And look super hot to boot! (Uh, literally hot. Steaming...)

The first 5K I pushed the running stroller- on St. Patrick's Day. And I passed plenty of dads pushing strollers. 

The Seattle Rock and Roll Half Marathon.

My first full marathon after Margot was born:
The Portland Marathon
10/10/10

Margot on the train back to Olympia, enthralled
with the hardware.

                  

The Mercer Island Half Marathon-
The second time I ran it.

Fueled By Fine Wine Half Marathon.
I finished that grueling run with Margot in my arms

Happy and tired with my family.

 I know Margot loves to run partly from running with me and seeing my joy in the sport. I want to give that gift to Sabine as well. And darn it, I need some race photos with my TWO girls! So it looks like it's time to sign up for my first race since Sabine was born.

August 25 is "The Great Escape 10K" here on Ft. Leavenworth, and I reckon it will be my first foray into racing since Beanay's come along. It's a tad farther than I'm currently running, but if I want to see some results and reap the benefits of all the aforementioned running bonuses, then I better get my legs in gear.

Though I don't really WANT to run right now, I'm lacing up my running shoes right now. Fake it 'til you make it, baby!

Unchartered Territory

When looking for Google Images of "Unchartered Territory," I ran across this picture, and it made me think. I thought the next stage in my life was simply unchartered. Alas, I realize it is also uncharted!

And you know I love a chart. And lists. So this entry will contain all the above. Hold on to your seats, babies! It might get crazy.

School in Kansas starts on August 15 (which seems remarkably early to me). But of course no teacher I've ever met waltzes into her classroom on Day 1. "Good morning, my students! Let us purge our ignorance and embrace the pearls of wisdom I am about to bestow on you! Now, now... let's not all raise our hands at once and scrabble through our books to get started too roughly. All in good time, my little dears." Yeah, it doesn't usually look like that.

There are "So You're New to the District, so Please Show Up For Three Days of Indoctrination" days later this week. Next week there are "Professional Development Days" for most of the week, and the following week there are "Professional Development Days, Teacher Work Days, Ninth Grade Orientation, and Convocation." I'm not sure yet what convocation is, but I'm sure I'll be apprised of the situation before the actual Convocation begins.

Now, this is all assuming my paperwork from Kansas comes through... soon(ish).

Everything above (excepting the convocation), I've done already- numerous times, in different states, and in different grades, and in different schools. I'm sure it will be fine.

What I have NOT done is do all the above with two kids. Not one, two. So here's a moment of panic- however will I get it all done! (Have I mentioned high school starts roughly TWO HOURS earlier than my last middle school did? Yes, panic).

Here, I will attempt to carve out what a typical workday will look like for me. For optimum efficiency. Time is my most precious resource, meaning there is never enough of it, and I have to savor every minute in order to make life as wonderful as possible.

Buckle up. Here we go:

(Assuming clothes are ironed and milky is rationed, labeled, and dated the night before):

5:00 Rouse myself from a delicious slumber. (Not sure what Bob will be doing during this time. This is the first time I'll have to report to work before him). We'll assume he is saintly and will agree to help with the girls and play barista in the mornings before he has to go to PT. BUT, we mustn't get too used to that help, since he's frequently away for work.

Right, so get up, pump milky, and get ready. *First cup of coffee of the day*

6:00 Rouse the girls. Change diapers, get dressed, hair, teeth, breakfast, milky.

6:30 Out the door and to CYS.

6:45 Leave CYS and drive to Leavenworth High School

7:00 Unpack in my classroom, grade a few papers, run copies, prepare for the day. Pump one more time? Unsure how this pumping business is going to go at school just yet.

9:30 Prep Period. Two words: Milk, Coffee. Not mixed together. Sabine would not appreciate her delicious milky mixed with Mamma's Life Source and Nectar of the Gods: Java.

11:45 Lunch with colleagues. Hopefully there will be the witty banter and repartee I'm so accustomed to from KMS. I frequently could not finish my lunch, because I was so busy yucking it up with my friends. Besides, laughter can fuel your body much longer than a yoghurt, right? Maybe not.

2:45 School adjourns for the day. Pump milk (again!). Grade a few papers.

3:15 Leave for a run from my school. I think this will be a great way to discover little parks and find out where my kiddos live and make their lives outside of school. Hopefully I won't land my cute little running short clad self in the hood, but if I do- I'm sure I'll have a hundred students who will be willing to escort me right back to the 'burbs.

4:30 Either pick up food from the commissary or pick up girls from school. This could be an and/or situation, actually.

4:45 Home, play with girls, throw load of laundry in washer.

5:15 Make Dinner. -You know, something healthy and delicious! 


6:00 Dinner with the fam.

6:30 Clean kitchen

6:45 Play with the girls.

7:00 Baths, jammies, teeth, books.

7:30 Night, night, girls.

7:32 Get more water for Margot. Because apparently she gets SUPER thirsty at night.

7:40 Shower and throw laundry in the dryer.

8:00 Pick up toys in living and dining rooms.

8:00 Hang out with Bob, watch Jeopardy (which Kansas City now airs. Hooray!) Score papers? Review reading for tomorrow? Iron clothes for tomorrow. Prepare bottles.

9:00 In bed, reading. Possibly write query letters.

10:30 Nurse Sabine one more time.

11:00 Lights Out.

This looks like a very full day. Which is good. But not overly full. There is time to prepare, teach, play, and re-group. These are components each day must have for balance.

The weekends will need to have lots of family time, the occasional "me time" for a mani/pedi, time to plan and type up lesson plans (apparently something this school requires. Typed general weekly lesson plans), and menu planning. Not to mention laundry.

So there you have it: Now life is "Charted" and soon it will be "Chartered." I'm off to get that aforementioned Manicure before life gets SUPER hectic. Cheer!

*If you'd like to make a graph of your own, click HERE*

Auf Wiedersehen, Kaffee

Here's the coffee situation in my house: I've got a Kitchenaid coffee maker that's been working hard for me for ten years now. I purchased it in Germany right after Bob and I were married. We've got a Breville espresso maker that makes beautifully crafted shots of espresso. Most recently, we added a Keurig one cup coffee maker to the family. With the right pod, it makes a decent cup of joe.

So why am I bidding adieu to my three loves? First, let me say- this is not good-bye. We're just taking a break, not getting divorced.

Here's the thing: especially since having children and writing my first book, I've found my dependence on coffee growing. This worries me. In other aspects of my life, I listen to my body. When I'm running, I've very in-tune with how my body is functioning. When I was having a baby, my body and mind were singular in their mission. But for some reason, I seem to think it's okay to ignore the signs my body is giving me on a day to day basis.

Just because these last three months have been exhausting doesn't mean I have the right to tune out what my body is telling me. Instead of finding/making time for rest, I've been medicating myself with caffeine.

So for the next 30 days, I'll be saying No Thank You to coffee. It's just a little experiment. I'm hoping to regain my focus and clear my thinking. My friend Katie said she did this experiment for 90 days and found that she actually had more energy. This seems counter intuitive to me, but I'm certainly hoping by cutting out caffeine, I'll have more energy. Fingers are crossed.

The hardest part of this exercise is that for me, coffee is a tender lover. I savor the feel of a creamy cup of  coffee in my hand, the warm nurturing feel of the first swallow. I relish the chilled bitter sip of an iced latte through my Starbucks straw. So for the next month, I'll miss the experience, but I'm happy to bid farewell to the jitters.

Wish my luck, friends.

Thoughts on Independent Book Sellers & Wallflower in Bloom- A Book Review

I love, love, love the Indie Bound book list that comes out every month. If you're not familiar with it, you can check it out here: Indie Bound
Indie Bound is a list of books that are sold and recommended by Independent Book Sellers across the country. Yes, the books are also sold on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and on iTunes, but when you buy a book from these Mom and Pop stores, you're keeping people in business.

Do I love paying full price for a book? Ummm... no. I like a deal. And I like to be able to stock up on books without breaking the bank. My friend Evan says he feels like he's donating to charity when he buys a full price book at Orca, an indie bookstore in Olympia. I concur. So I try to mix it up. For every two books I buy on Amazon, I try to buy two books from an Indie book store, and borrow another two from the library. You know- spread the love.

Here's the best thing about the Indie Bound book list: the books are almost always phenomenal reads. The only time I was lead astray was with their December top pick, Sisters, which was so damn bad I couldn't believe anyone had actually read it all the way through before endorsing it. But that's another matter.

On the June list, I saw Wallflower in Bloom and was intrigued by a couple of aspects. First, the author, Claire Cook wrote her first book when she was 45. When she was 50, her book Must Love Dogs was made into a movie. I admire that kind of spunk. Want to re-create yourself? Absolutely! Go and do it!

Second, the cover is beautiful. -I know, I know: mustn't judge the book by the cover and all that. But you have to admit, we are drawn to beauty.

The premise of the story is that the main character, Deidre, has lived her entire life in her super famous brother's shadow. Tag is a life coach, New Age guru, and Deidre is his personal assistant. When her life crumbles around her, on a drunken night, she taps into Tag's social networking sites and gets herself voted on to be a last minute replacement on Dancing With the Stars. There, she learns many lessons about who she is and who she can become.

Now, I'll be the first to admit, this is not usually my kind of read. I'm not crazy about pop culture, or television at all, but since the book was recommended by Indie Bound, and it is summer, I decided to check it out of the library. (I wasn't committed enough to buy it).

It was an enjoyable read. Yes, the main character drove me a little nuts. I just wanted to shake her and say, "Damn it, woman! Get a hold of yourself and find some self confidence. What the hell is the matter with you?!" -I have the hardest time understanding people who constantly berate themselves and tear themselves down. Life is much too short to destroy yourself daily.

Couched in the silly premise and pop culture references was a great lesson, and it really did make me think. Self confidence is not usually my problem, but Lord knows I have many other issues that I'm addressing. Deidre is figuring out life and finding her most authentic self in Wallflower in Bloom, and that's what we're ultimately trying to do as humans, so yeah- this book was worth my time.

3.5/5 Stars.

College Bound?

It's no secret I was taken completely by surprise by some toddler behavior that my friends assured me was "normal." Especially considering the fact that Margot was hitting two and a half (I have friends who SWEAR the halves are the hardest part. One and a HALF, two and a HALF, three and a HALF...) and she got a new baby sister, all in one fell swoop.

And I remember sitting at our little kitchen table here in Kansas, nine months pregnant, reading texts from my friend Sarah. We share our honest, open mamma moments, fears, triumphs via text (we're busy! No time to chat! No, you cannot run outside naked, young lady!... I digress). Anyway, as I read a text about how challenging it was to have a baby and a two and a half year old big sister, I nodded my head in sympathy. Meanwhile, Margot was playing quietly in her pretend kitchen, being charming as all get out. Oh, dear! That sounds rough! I thought. But Margot seems pretty well adjusted to this move, and she LOVES babies. Maybe we'll be al-


BAM!!! Fast forward 8 weeks, and out of the blue, Margot started to exert her little will, and I was ill-equipped to deal with it. What was a mamma to do? Someone really should have warned me! So we had three weeks of what I can only assume the Marine Corps boot camp is like. They tear you down, rip out your guts, spit down your neck, and if you're still somewhat alive, they back off and see if you can get yourself to your feet.

After that, they beat the shit out of you only occasionally. Okay, I'm getting most of my information from G.I. Jane- the movie, which I'm pretty sure is not even the Marine Corps. Whatever. You get my gist.

So I think we're in that "So you survived and call yourself a mother of two" stage right now. And I'm even walking with a little swagger. (Please don't disillusion me. I do realize I'm just one nap shy of having the rug pulled from my beneath my feet).

But here's the thing I want to focus on today, this little victory:
Since Margot started back to school (euphemism for daycare) on Monday, she's a much happier little girl. And all of a sudden so grown up!

This morning at 6:00, Bob and I heard Margot's bedroom door open. Now, usually this is when she starts screaming and/or slamming her door. But today she padded down to the bathroom, and a few minutes later we heard the toilet flush.

We held our breath. Bob said, "I guess she went back to bed...?"

An hour later she came in my room, and was wearing a dress. -A clean one, ready for school. "I dressed, Mamma!" she said.
"I see that. Do you have underwear on?"
"Nope."
"Okay, well you can't go to school without underwear. Go get some on, and we'll go downstairs to eat breakfast," I answered. Then I held my breath. It could go either way. Screams or acquiescence.
"Okay, Mamma."And she trotted back to her room.

Then I got up and was changing Sabine and getting dressed for the day... while Margot went downstairs (fully dressed WITH underwear) and ate breakfast. She found a yoghurt she wanted, opened it, got out a spoon, put on her bib, and ate breakfast in the dining room!

Then she came upstairs for me to wipe her face. And you know what? Thank god she did, because if she didn't need me for something this morning, I think I'd believe she was leaving this afternoon to enroll at University.

I'm proud of my little lady, and I'm damn proud her half toddler stage hasn't eaten both of us for lunch.
Together, my little Margot-Mia and I are a pretty good team.

Midwives- A Book Review

I finished reading Midwives by Chris Bohjalian today, and want to review it while it's still fresh in my memory. I've read a few of Bohjalian's books in the past- and have enjoyed them. Now if I could just pronounce his last name!

Midwives tells the story of a midwife who finds herself stranded at a home birth that goes terribly wrong and performs a c-section on the mother after she's died. The only problem: what if the mother wasn't really dead and the midwife killed her, by accident. By trying to rescue the unborn child. (Not a spoiler alert. All this information is on the dust jacket).

Certainly this book appealed to me as a mother who just gave birth with a midwife. And the subject is pretty black and white. There aren't too many people who have neutral feelings about home births. There is a pretty compelling court case throughout the book, and the characters and dialogue are believable- if not completely warranting sympathy.

While I didn't care deeply for any of the characters, I admire how Bohjalian wrote about birthing from a woman's perspective- as a male writer.
My favorite quote of the book:
"...Each surge has the potential to change a mother, and eventually one will. I told him how a woman at that stage might go from being this totally serene person in touch with everything around her, to this frenzied animal unaware of anything but her own physical reality. Her surges. The way her body is changing. And that's part of the deal, the giving up of everything- and I mean everything- but the demands of labor. A woman's body knows what it's doing, I said, and she just has to let it do its own thing." -Pg. 228

Aside from the woman dying during childbirth (freaky!) this book brought back many tremendous memories of my own recent birthing experience with Sabine and our fabulous midwife, Kelly. (Pictured below).

For the book itself, I'd give it 4/5 stars. For what it made me remember and feel: 5/5
Added bonus: It was a library book, so I got the experience for free! What a novel idea... (Ugh, bad puns!)

And if I ever get to meet Chris Bohjalian, and if we were ever to become friendly enough that I could speak candidly with him, I'd say, "Chris, buddy, I really like your books. You tell a damn fine story. Maybe you could set just ONE of them outside of Vermont? Just a thought. Cheers." And then we'd continue telling the war stories that only road-wearied novelists can weave.

Until then, happy reading, friends.

Scattered Much?

The other day I was talking with Bob, and he made an excellent observation:
"I think once you start the school year, you'll find that your life is more focused- and you won't have time to spread yourself too thin."
Now- this might not make sense to anyone else. It seems like when the school year is in session I would be more frenzied, instead of less.
Yes and No.
Consider this: since moving to Kansas, we worked feverishly, crazily, balls-to-the-wall-y to get settled into our house. The results: our home is lovely, and it feels very much like we've lived here for years. Done and done.
Next up: have ourselves a baby. Now, most of the hard work was already done. Sabine was only 7 weeks from being born when we moved into our house. All we had to do was get settled, find a birthing center, and go through labor. The results: Sabine had the birthing experience I've dreamed of my entire life: naturally born, unmedicated, on a (real, not hospital) bed surrounded by people I love more than anything.
Done and done.
Next up: Ummmm... there was a yawning expanse of possibilities. Some of the options that pinged around my head: stay at home and write and mother, teach Language Arts at Leavenworth High School, try to stay sane as Bob was gone for the entire month of June, keep some semblance of order in my house and laundry, and- uh, what about query letters? And damnit, why can't I get my body to run FASTER? Huh... CrossFit looks fun. Oh, we're out of peanut butter.
I couldn't calm my thoughts and put them into a plan, because I didn't know what to do or how to get there.
But things are falling into place.
Yesterday Sabine turned 12 weeks old, which in itself is astonishing. How can that much time have passed so quickly? And I feel it also explains some of the weirdness... hormones. They're a mo-fo.

So the plan is this:
Teach Language Arts at Leavenworth High School. My boxes of stuff are in my classroom, but it's not set up. My Kansas license is applied for, but not finalized. THE AGONY! C'mon already, I'm ready to start getting my life into a rhythm. But I'm afraid of losing this baby time with Sabine. THE GUILT!

The girls are starting full time CYS (on-post daycare) on Monday. Well, actually, Margot is starting full time. I'm not sure how much Sabine will go in the next two weeks. Enough for me to get my classroom set up and write some query letters...

I have two and a half weeks ahead of me before I have to start going to Leavenworth School District meetings. The girls will be in school, and this allows me the time to: figure out how to pump the right amount of milky for Sabine to take to school with her. Run at the gym each day. And query literary agents. It's been strangely thrilling to have Bob ask me when I plan to start writing my next book. Say what?! The man believes in me! Then yesterday I mused that I might re-read the Harry Potter books during the next two and a half weeks. In silence. Bliss... until my biggest fan said, "What about your query letters?" Right. Yes, of course I'll get those written.

But first I must re-read my novel. You know, to get the juices flowing. To revive my confidence. To ensure I don't write a letter that sounds like this:
Dear Agent,
I wrote a pretty good book that you really need to take a look at. Thanks in advance. Smiley face.

And did I mention my running is not what it used to be before I gave birth? I know that must come as a shock. Why the hell not, you might be asking yourself. It's the question I'm asking, too. And I'm attempting to beat my body into submission with CrossFit. Which is torturous in a way that makes you humbly say, "Thank you, sir; may I have another?" whilst kneeling in your own feces, handcuffed, and blindfolded. I don't know why it appeals to me, but it does. Don't judge me.

So that's where I am right now:
Mothering every minute, running as many hours as I can, finding time to re-read my novel, write query letters, move into my classroom, prepare for the first week of school- and hoping desperately the state of Kansas doesn't pull a fast one in the eleventh hour.

And one day, when all the above has been nailed down, then I will brew myself a lovely cup of coffee, sit down and write the first sentences to my newest novel (which are solidified in my head)... and all will be right in the world.
But for now... I really do think we're out of peanut butter.

Confidence, where art thou?

You know how it feels like you're getting somewhere when you talk something out- just talk and talk until you feel like you've reached a solution? Yes, this is what's happening. Welcome to my internal dialogue. I don't believe talking to yourself makes you crazy (and neither do the voices in my head).

Remember those manuscripts in the pictures above? Remember how I slaved over them, cried tears into the paper, and ruthlessly edited out carefully chosen words? Yes, me too.

Suddenly, well- it's been more gradual than "suddenly"- they're beginning to feel like shit. Yes, that's right. Maybe you prefer the terms Drivel, Nonsense, What the Hell Were You Thinking Taking Eight Months to Write a Novel?

And before you say all the wonderful things you've been saying- which IS encouraging, but you don't have to live inside my head, let me cut you off at the pass and try to do the heavy morale lifting for you. (Incidentally, this is the same process I try to use whilst running- the pep talk extraordinaire).

Self, perhaps you should consider the following:

1. You've only sent out 8 agent queries and heard back from two. The other six have presumably left you for dead. -Maybe... I should send out a few (dozen) more. Yeah, that's what I tell myself, and that's what others tell me, too. This is like walking right into a pit that has a tightrope strung across it. I know the rope is there, but it's a shot in the dark to find it. And 54/55 times I'm going to miss it and trip headlong into the pit. -But who cares about the ones who reject your work? The agent who is meant to represent you will. So true. But it comes down to confidence- and mine is flagging.

2. You really do believe in your heart of hearts that writing is the next stage of your life. And you would NEVER encourage someone to sit around and wallow in their stupid fears when facing a challenge. You would be the FIRST to say- Lace up your shoes; let's run! or Send in those applications! or One more e-mail to branch can't hurt! Fight for your future! Damn straight! Yes, well, when the shoe is on the other foot- it's a bit daunting. And perhaps I owe a few hundred people apologies for pushing them too hard. (I'll get started on those apology letters as soon as I've written the query letters...)

3. My most recent hair brained motivation or lack thereof- I need a new desk chair. Mine is abysmal. I need to find one that supports a proper writer's back. Until then... well...

Maybe this weekend needs to be devoted to finding a desk chair. That would be a good place to start. And one more excuse to axe.

4. Now for a couple of goodies:

• "Don't give up! It took Thomas Edison 1,000 tries to make the light bulb." -I ran across this one in our school's planner this week. I'm pretty sure it was put there just for me.
• “Passion won’t protect you against setbacks, but it will insure that no failure is ever final.” -Steve Jobs

So next time you see me... ask how the agent quest is going. Then if I don't give you a good, solid, confident answer- give me a dose of my own medicine. A "You can do it! You BETTER do it!" Your confidence coupled with my own just might do the trick.

"Volks-Run?"

In Germany, the locals do this thing where they get in a big group in one small town and then walk through fields and other little towns (stopping for beer and pretzels along the way) until they get to a predetermined end location. This is called a Volksmarch. It can be a languorous pace, or it can be a workout. It depends on location and how zealous the other people in the crowd are.

Sunday, I'll be running the Fueled By Fine Wine half marathon down in Oregon, and I'm approaching it like a volksmarch, but since I'll be running most of it, I'll call it a volks-run.

I'm looking at this race differently than those in the past. This is the first long(er) distance race I've run since that whole ectopic debacle, and I just want to embrace the fact that my body has worked for me (most of the time) and has done a pretty good job. I'm truly blessed that this frame of mine will carry me through life's ups and downs, not to mention long runs.

The game plan looks like this:

• Enjoy the scenery- It's in wine country! Hello?! Pretty, pretty, pretty.
• Don't worry about pace- Much of the run is off road and there is a 800 foot climb. That might not sound like a ton of feet, but trust me, it's grueling.
• Take a picture or two?- In past races- like the Athens Marathon in Greece, I've scoffed at people stopping to take pictures. How gauche! How amateur! But guess what? I'm never going to be an elite runner, and I sure as hell wish I had some pictures from that Athens marathon to remember it a little better, since my brain was addled from the 19 mile uphill. But I digress. Where was I? Oh, right- taking pictures. I'll have my iPhone for music, so I think I'll stop to capture the moment on film... or pixels. Whatever.

I've never felt this relaxed before a half marathon... and really, it's only a half. It will be okay. But depending on how Sunday goes, this might be my new running M.O. Plus, wine tasting and artisinal goat cheese on baguettes at the finish line doesn't sound half bad.

All the world's a stage... I don't think that's what Shakespeare meant.

The five stages of grief... I've heard of them.

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Depression

4. Bargaining

5. Acceptance

They seem like a really practical way of dealing with grief.

But I'm not grieving. -Step One. Denial. Damn. Okay, I might be grieving a little bit... more so now that the hormones from the ectopic pregnancy are leaving my body.

And why they're taking their sweet-ass time leaving my body and are consequently dragging this pregnancy and grieving process out longer and longer, I don't know.... which INFURIATES me! -Yeah, step 2. Anger.

Here's what I'm mad about right now:

1. Why couldn't this whole thing be done with three weeks ago when it started?

2. Why are the hormones lingering and making me crazy?

3. Why can't I just move on? The egg was the size of a pine nut. Get over yourself, you little nut! (Addressed to myself, not the poor little zygote that apparently couldn't work a compass and didn't know which direction was down, south, the lower floor, the uterus. -Jeez. How hard could it be?-Said, while yelling at my gut).

Am I depressed? Tricky question since people who are depressed don't know it. -Or deny it (step 1). Who knows.

Bargaining. This is me on the treadmill- "Okay, Liz. Run to get strong. The strongest you've ever been, so no baby will choose to vacate your body again. You'll be so strong that you won't let it." Here's me blogging, "Right. So what I'm going to do is eat as much protein and as many vegetables as I can, so that my body is the ideal vessel that no little fetus would DREAM of leaving!"

Yeah, then I think- Get real, Liz. You've been running your whole adult life and haven't met a veg or glass of water you've turned down. -What's the use? (Hmmm... could be step 3. Depression).

I guess this whole process has been harder than I've been willing to admit. But I'm hoping that once the pregnancy is, indeed, over- that I can breeze through the rest of the steps and be on my merry way.

And don't even think about suggesting that kind of thinking is clearly Step 1, because I might be tempted to act on Step 2 and wring your neck.

You Are What You Eat

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm pretty passionate about eating healthfully. And luckily here in Washington we have all kinds of access to affordable, organic food. -I'm thinking of our co-op and the farmer's market (where I took these photos last year).

That said, this last week has seemed to call for two things (okay, three) in order for me to feel better. First, there were an awful lot of sweets and carbs in general. And just about every evening there was a glass or two of wine to dull the pain Aleve just wasn't touching. And the third thing was staying home with my family. We just holed up and didn't leave the house- unless we had to.

Could I live like that forever? No. Did I know it was short term... and that I would get back to normal in a week or so? Yes.

Ding, ding, ding! Time's up.

Bob's in the field for a couple of weeks, and that gives me the perfect space to get back to what I know I should be doing to be my healthiest self. Margot and I launched the "Revival" tonight with chicken Caesar salad... that I grilled and prepared for us. All natural, all organic. -And my toddler loved every bite of it just as much as I did.

I think/know that things happen when they're supposed to and I embrace that. So I don't think anything I did or didn't do caused the miscarriage. But I do want to get my body back to peak health in order to give the next baby... whenever the right time will be... the chance to grow and thrive in a healthy body for the better part of a year.

So it's back to running. -Half marathon scheduled for July in Oregon.

And back to tons of fruits and vegetables. -I love them. No candy on earth can touch a fruit in season.

Finally, it's time for more protein. I've got muscle to build and red blood cells to replace. And grilling isn't too much of a hassle. (But it will be much better when Bob's back. Everything is, actually).

And the wine will stay in the weekends.

When you know better, you eat better. And when you eat better, you feel better.

I'm on my way.

First Rule of Fight Club

"The first rule of Fight Club is- you DON'T talk about Fight Club." Brad Pitt might as well have issued these same instructions to women all over the globe who have had miscarriages.

Here's the thing I've discovered in the last week. Almost everyone I know has joined the club- against her will. The club we won't talk about.

How do I know? Because, new as I am to the club, I said (with lots of tears) the "M" word, and women have hugged me and whispered in my ear. "I know. It happened to me too."

I get it. I do. Who wants to drudge up horrible pain? And certainly you don't want to mention it to a glowing, happily rotund preggo. Nope. No way. No Ma'am. It just isn't done.

Even as I write this, I'm thinking to myself. -Drop it, Liz! You don't want to be the one who can't move on or insists on talking about it. And even as I think this, I remind myself: You know what? My blog. My rules. And it's been less than a week.

And that goes for you too, Brad Pitt. How's this for a rule? I'll talk about "It," the "M Word," "Miscarriages" as little or as much as I want to.

Friends, sisters- and brothers, too!- it's okay! Life happens, and sometimes it doesn't deal you a solid. It doesn't persist in the manner you wish it would. I, for one, am willing to step out of the shadows and let the world see where life knocked me around a little bit.

So if you want to have that conversation, then pull up a chair. I'm not going to cry on your shoulder- or maybe I will, who knows? But I'm willing to listen to your story and to acknowledge every craggy step you've had to climb to get to where you are today.

Let's face it. Sometimes those steps knock us on our ass. -But I've never had one knock me out.

Fight Club, Indeed.

How Full Is Your Glass?

There's been much to obsess about lately: My efforts at perfection (incidentally, there was an EXCELLENT, timely article in last week's New York Times Magazine about that very topic. Too bad I obsessed about it for days and THEN read the article). Then there's this whole union business and how lousy teachers are perceived to be right now.

Not to mention Libya, which I really am trying to stay abreast of those changes, but it's tough! And poor Japan- melting down. Literally.

When I'm worried for the future (and middle schoolers sexting and how one day Margot will be in middle school...) I try to reassure myself that global changes start at home.

I, in no way, think for one second that global changes start with government or a decree or population or law. Think about it!

What if we teach our children to love, and tolerate, and recycle? And here's the great part: we can do it gently, everyday: by DOING! By demonstrating, modeling what it means to be a good citizen, a friend of the earth, and a nurturing family.

I look at innocent little Margot, and I think: There's hope. The world's got a chance!

I've thought this since we first moved to Germany. Bob was deployed a couple of times in those four years, and spent much more time in the field training. I couldn't do anything to control how much time he was away from our little flat, but I knew one thing: When he was home, he would be HOME, and loved, and safe.

And that, my friends, is where I really believe it starts.

So yeah, I'm optimistic that somehow it's going to be okay. -Even great.

The Thought That Plagues Me

Here's a thought that plagues me daily: You're Just Not Good Enough.

Now, hear me out. I'm not looking for a bunch of praise, and I don't suffer from low self-esteem. I've journaled about this dozens of times, about the kind of woman I wish I were.

In this day and age, as a woman, you sort of believe you should do it all, have it all, see it all, feel it all. You should work and be a mom. You should be carefree and detail oriented. You should value your quiet time and make yourself available for social things.

A portrait of the woman I would be, if I just had a little more will power would look like this:

Rise at 6:00 to run. (This would probably mean not writing and editing into the wee hours of the morning).

Do a load of laundry, clean a bathroom, and grade some papers- before Margot wakes up.

NEVER rush to get out the door in the morning. (But we're actually pretty good about this one).

ALWAYS have meals planned for the week, and the energy/wherewithal to go to Safeway with an exhausted toddler...

I could go on and on until the wheels of my day were a spinning flurry of color and activity:

Run More! Read More! Grade More! More Patient! Vacuum More! More Efficient!!!

I don't know if I would feel more fulfilled if I could fill that imaginary role, but I think the chances are good that I would find more things to wish I did better. -Bonsai gardening, maybe?

I'm thinking I'm not the only one who feels this way, because I have friends- who I really believe- DO IT ALL! And they do it with such panache and grace. (I'm only a little miffed at them for not sharing their secrets!)

Here's the truth: sometimes I walk by a pile of Bob's white PT socks that are inexplicably piled on the stairs, waiting to be washed, folded, and put away. I'll look at them, and think I'll get those on the next trip upstairs. And then in the next breath, I think: My friend Robin would NEVER leave those there!

***BUT! What if we stopped comparing ourselves to each other? (Maybe I'm the only one who does it. I'm sure Kim never... Oh, wait. There I go again!) What if I'm just happy with what I'm able to accomplish each day, and give myself a little grace regarding the rest?

It's a lovely thought, but it's just my nature to strive for perfection. So maybe I just need to change my thought pattern from "You're just not good enough" to "You're pretty damn great... but you could probably be better"

That's the compromise I'm willing to consider.

Geoduck Love

No need to hide the kids' eyes. These are large (sometimes up to six pounds), edible clams. They can be found in the sandy mud of the Pacific Northwest. AND they can live, rather comfortably, for up to 150 years. -No wonder! Who would want to eat something that looks like this?

They're pronounced- Gooey Ducks. -Who knows why. There are so many words out here that I botch on a daily basis. AND they're the mascots for The Evergreen State College. -Again, who knows why. Maybe because they're quirky, and so is the Evergreen? (Clayton, if you're reading this, I mean that from a place of love).

In fact, here are the lyrics to the Evergreen State College's fight song:

The Geoduck Fight Song

words and music by Malcolm Stilson, 1971

Go, Geoducks go,
Through the mud and the sand,
let's go.
Siphon high, squirt it out,
swivel all about,
let it all hang out.

Go, Geoducks go,
Stretch your necks when the tide
is low
Siphon high, squirt it out,
swivel all about,
let it all hang out.

Okay, so yeah- if you look at the picture, and then read the words to the song, it does all strike a rather naughty note. And it's pretty hilarious.

All that to say: I ran the Geoduck Gallop Half Marathon with my friend, Evan today. We ran it in 2:00:09. (Two hours and nine seconds). My personal goal this spring is to run a half marathon in less than two hours.

Fortunately, I'll have lots of chances to try for that goal. -And it turns out the Evergreen campus is so beautiful that I'm sure Margot and I will begin training there on a weekly basis.

And who knows? Maybe if I added geoducks to my training menu, I'd get just a little faster!

Funky Cold Medina?!

So I've been thinking... I don't know how much longer I have in Washington. But what I DO know, is that I feel like I identify with this segment of the American population more than I have anywhere else I've ever lived. (To the average observer, I probably appear to fit in somewhere in say, Lansing, Michigan. But au contraire!)

While I'm a planner and am nailed down, I think I'm open minded and accepting. I want to try new things and branch out on new adventures, to push myself in new ways. And my more ummm... Right Wing friends just roll their eyes and say, "Oh, that's just Liz being Liz." And I LOVE that they (you?) accept me for that. So how do I make the outside match this inside attitude?

I've got to take Washington with me wherever I move next. So when I move to Kansas or Georgia or Texas (oh, dear!), I hope they think this about Liz Cornelius: "Hmmm... she dances to the beat of her own drum. And that's refreshing."

But I suppose if I really let loose, then I wouldn't care what people think at all. Baby steps.

Maybe I should start by burning my Polos? I'll get there.

My Reading Life

I read Pat Conroy's newest book, My Reading Life, recently.

Let me first say: it was outstanding! Conroy is a brilliant writer who is truly a wordsmith, a word master! I always find it interesting to see what my favorite authors read and enjoy or discount.

Conroy, since he was a sophomore in high school, has consistently read 200 pages a day. Can you imagine?! How wonderful! How time consuming. Clearly, I need to make it as a big-time novelist, so I can find time in my day to read 200 pages. This teaching business coupled with parenting a toddler and being a wife, really cuts into the day! As it is, I'm writing in the wee hours of the morning and late at night. And my reading? I'd say it's coming in at between 50-70 pages a day. But I'm inspired to push that number higher.

Anyway, Conroy talks about how his prolific reading and writing have been intertwined over the years, and it makes perfect sense.

I feel like he wrote the book to me. I am NOT a book highlighter, and I wore out two highlighters (that might have been on the brink anyway, but still) highlighting sections about writing novels and fiction. It's powerful stuff.

Five stars. If you're a reader and/or a writer- buy this book. Have Kleenex and highlighters at the ready!

You'll want to come back and thank me later for recommending this title to you, but really- it's not necessary.

As Always, Julia

When I purchased this book in December, I originally thought these were letters between Julia Child and her husband, Paul Child. However, these are the letters between Julia and her friend/ publicist/ editor Avis Devoto.

As Always, Julia seemed quite timely to me, as I am endeavoring to write my first book. There are many days where I am absolutely plagued with self doubt (and so was Julia). And Julia had a dear friend who said: You're on to something! Write, write, WRITE!

I've got that friend, too. Her name is Annette Wells, and maybe when/if/Godwilling I make it in the writing world, I've got much to say about how encouraging Annette has been in my endeavors.

The book is amazing in the fact that the letters are real. (Mailed back and forth from Paris to Massachusetts). They talk about things like are these newfangled dishwashers any good? Would people really use an electric mixer? Have you heard of MSG? McCarthy is mid-reign of terror at the time the book is written, and both the Devoto and the Child families are on his radar. It's fascinating.

Word to the wise: this is a LONG book. 400 pages of tiny type. But it's quite good.

Five stars out of five stars.