On Great Kids Books...

There's just something about reading a Junie B. Jones book that makes me want to write a great children's book....

November 1

We had a longstanding tradition at my house growing up. On the first of the month, whoever woke up first would wake up the others to remind them to say, "Rabbit, rabbit." Saying this on the first was supposed to bring good luck, and the tradition was taken very seriously.

I'm twenty-three now, and not living at home anymore, but I remembered to say "Rabbit, rabbit" this morning. Hopefully my good luck will come in the form of lots of disciplined time to work on my book. And maybe fame and fortune, too.

Thursday mornings are peaceful here at the apartment. It's my sleep-in day, and everyone's gone, and it's always great to sit at the kitchen table with all the natural sunlight streaming in, reading, or doing devotions, or working on some creative project or another. This morning I loaded up the dishwasher before settling down with my Bible, and the hum of the wash cycle matched with the aroma of pumpkin spice candles really made the whole experience feel like November.

Wonder of wonders!

Tonight I became the proud owner of a pair of tannish-brown Editor pants.

I have coveted these pants for many years as they sat in the mall on the racks of Express, with their stupid $40 price tag.

But miracle of miracles, a pair in just my size found its way to my room in the form of a bag of throwaway clothes from my roommate's sister.

Now I can really get serious about this book business thing.

It was. It was a dark. It was a dark and stormy night.

I recently acquired Snoopy's Guide to the Writing Life while on vacation in Colorado. I found a used copy for eight bucks in this great little new/used bookshop in Boulder. I read the entire thing between Boulder and getting back to our vacation "home" in Greeley, and I have to say I felt much more enlightened after peeking into the trials that have befallen Snoopy's writing career over the years.

I read book five of the Harry Potter series on the road (thank God I don't get carsick). Then I spent the following week doing nothing but going to work reading books six and seven, because I just knew someone was going to spoil it for me if I didn't get through it fast. I've heard mixed reviews of the last book, but other than a terribly long first half (which, I must admit, had only necessary information for its tiresome read), I thought it ended the only way it really could have that wouldn't have made me sad/angry/upset/want to hurtle the book across the room to hear the satisfying thud against the wall. Kudos, J.K.

My own bestseller is slow going. I look forward to the weekends for all the free time to write, but when they are actually here I can't pull myself to the laptop. For instance, this weekend I went to a movie night on Friday, ran errands and was lazy on Saturday, and went to Disneyland with my mom and sister on Sunday. This weekend procrastination lasts until Sunday night, anyway, when I have to sudden urge at nine p.m. to get all the pent-up creativity out, but it's hindered by knowing if I don't go to bed by eleven I will not be a happy Monday camper.

Which brings me to my Monday afternoon writing session, and the week starts anew.

Vacation Time

I had my roommate buy me a brand new spiral notebook today, color to be discovered. I feel like I might go through writing withdrawals on this trip, but at least I can scrawl things every once in awhile. With luck, I'll be able to construct a few middle and end scenes that will get me excited about writing the stuff in between. (Crosses fingers.)


(It's a navy blue notebook. It cost 10 cents.)

Starting Over...

I've started over on my book.

Again.

New outline. New intro. New format.

Let's just hope this time it sticks.