Lazy Susan

No, by Lazy Susan, I'm not referring to the spinning condiment and spice holder some people have in their kitchens. I am referring to myself.

No sooner do I post a Fridge Note saying Send Book Proposal by June 24 than I decide I'm tired, it's a holiday weekend, I need a day of rest, I haven't read a book in weeks, etc. etc.

In other words, now that I've publicly set a writing goal, I'm afraid I will tire myself out before I even get started. More importantly, I set a big goal and then realize I have a million other unmet goals [fill out many State Farm itemized personal property forms, carefully review contractor's umpteen-page proposal, pitch magazine article ideas, pitch web reporting ideas, schedule Sugar's grooming appointment, get my fasting blood sugar test] that I should meet first before taking on a giant project. I've been there before. I'm a pro at this. Setting one goal helps you seize the others.

And, though I've gotten positive feedback on my short stories and even published one years ago, who am I to think I can write a whole novel? I've never written one before. What if I can't put myself into the heads of fictional characters and sustain their story for the length of a book? I know myself, I don't know them. In fact, at this point, I only have a vague idea of who the main character will be. But I will like her. I can tell.

Is Writing Lazy?
I don't know if it's fair or accurate to call writing a lazy activity, but my blog is becoming a problem. I would rather write in it than do my work. I try hard to finish all my dreary work before I move onto the unbearable lightness of blogging, but it doesn't always work out that way.

If a painter sits around mixing colors and dabbling on canvas instead of, say, cleaning her messy home, paying her bills or hunting down art commissions, is she a sloth? How about a sculptor who is up to her elbows in clay and loving it but hasn't finished the sculpture someone paid her to do? Um-hum. I thought you might say that.

But isn't it also true that every stroke on the canvas and pinch of the wet clay will make the artist's work for the paid customer better, more focused, more perceptive?

Maybe not, when it comes right down to it.

But Back to the Lazy Susan
First of all, why is it Lazy Susan, not Lazy Sam? Some men I know already get away with too much in the kitchen.

What about these other common terms that use female names?
1. Chatty Cathy
2. Shirley Temple
3. Steak Diane
4. Quiche Lorraine
5. Bloody Mary
6. Black-eyed Susan

Oh, okay, some phrases use male names too, so there goes my feminist argument:
1. Robbing Peter to pay Paul
2. Doubting Thomas
3. You don't know Jack
4. Sloppy Joe
5. Cuppa Joe
6. Manwich [most sexist of all?]

Enjoy your evening.

Signing off,
Lazy Susan

Fridge Note: Send Book Proposal by June 24

Ah, another Fridge Note, and this time it doesn't have to do with chocolate. But it does have to do with money, at least with my efforts to earn some more.

Guess that's what happens when I have the gift of time to contemplate my goals as I sit and wait for the car in the customer lounge at Garden State Honda in Passaic. They've got four desktop computers with internet, free coffee [carafes labeled decaf, regular and weak], tea, water, soda, iced tea, bagels with cream cheese and warm garlic bread [strange but good--one of these things is not like the other ones, one of these things just doesn't belong].

While they replace our headlight, they've also given me a window to contemplate my writing goals.

New Terrain
I've never written or submitted a book proposal--never even learned how to do one in a writing class. But this is my 126th blog entry since I started in February, and I've realized how much joy and satisfaction I get from writing, honing sentences, plucking and polishing words. I've always loved to write, but I've never written daily just for pure pleasure and fun until I started this blog. [I also thank you very much for reading it.] I can't wait to park my bottom and face my blog every single day.

This book terrain is not new for H. He has worked hard for years, shaping and reshaping book proposals, researching facts about his subject and the market, getting knocked down and standing up again and again, pen poised, gaze ahead. He scored a deal to be proud of last time around.

I will turn 50 in January. Some people see that as an excuse to get a red sports car or a motorcycle. I've just decided that I see it as the perfect ripe moment to pitch a book [fiction] to H.'s high-profile literary agent.

The deadline I've given myself is the last day of school for Figgy--the close of her freshman year. I'm still in that frame of mind where you have to get things done before the school year ends, because after that, the kids are home and at loose ends--and besides, it means not just Figgy but I too can sleep later, go to the pool, barbecue, head to the shore, stay up late to catch lightning bugs. But truth be told, Fig is going to hike the Appalachian Trail [with an organized group of 10 kids and two guides] Fourth of July week--so I'd have that unbroken chunk of time to focus too.

Spoonful of Honey vs. Bracing Shot of Scotch
Here's the thing about H. While he has a sweet side, he can be gruff and tough. He doesn't sugar-coat things. Often, he'll bark at me--Why haven't you done a book? What are you waiting for?

And instead of being grateful that this writing warrior is in my midst day and night, I've taken offense. Why is he raising his voice?

He makes it sound so simple, but I could give you plenty of reasons why I haven't done a book. For the first eight years of our marriage and for another few years that ended last March, I was the one with the steady paycheck. In the years in between, we were both freelancing, and it was hard enough to balance regular assignments and motherhood--I sure didn't want to stint on my time with Figgy. When Punch came along, another stall. I was 46, working four days a week in NYC. By the time she had been bathed and was ready for bed, I would flop right into bed too. Absolutely no time to burn the midnight writing oil.

Fate
Now Fate has stepped in. We still see sweet Punch fairly often for sleepovers, but she is no longer in our care full-time. While Figgy still needs us, it's in a very different way--not to supervise bathtime, homework. She often fixes her own lunch [though I do like making it, and sticking in an "I love you" note, as we have since kindergarten].

Miss Fate, thank you for giving me time. H., thank you for lighting a fire under my sometimes too comfortable seat.

How true my commitment to myself is remains to be seen. And, I will not be able to abandon my freelance writing pitches and assignments, either.

Our car is ready now.

Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead.

Fridge Note: Money Changes Everything

*NOTE TO SELF*

EVERY EXTRA WE BUY IS BOUGHT WITH MONEY WE DID NOT USE TO PAY DOWN OUR DEBT OR SAVE FOR COLLEGE.

Let me tell you, our fridge door is getting pretty crowded with these notes. I had to put this one on the cabinet so it would really stand out at eye level. And I think that spending [or overspending] is directly related in my case to eating [or overeating], so the kitchen is a good place to put it.

EXTRAS counts luxury chocolate [even four ounces]; buy one, get one free shirts at Gap [one for Figgy, one for me]; yard sale stuff; Butter London nail polish in "Macbeth" and Butter London Jelly Sheer Colour [innocently happened upon at Salon Organic in Montclair]; iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts; Chinese takeout, even if Figgy and her friend do beg for it occasionally, like last night; three pizzas delivered to our door to feed a group of kids on a Friday [we can make pasta with sauce instead]; and hand-poured beeswax candles. These are the things we want, but do not need. It's hard to remember that clearly. Yes, they soften your tread in life but they take away from the larger goal.

However, I draw the line at my Lilly Pulitzer notebooks and folders. I could use plain boring ones but I feel these inspire me to work harder, longer, more clearly, more chicly and more creatively. And, they remind me that work--and perhaps more importantly, bill paying--can be fun.

I WOULD ACTUALLY LOVE TO KNOW HOW YOU RESIST BUYING EXTRAS--OR DO YOU BUDGET FOR THEM AND ALLOW YOURSELF TO INDULGE GUILT-FREE? ANY COLLEGE SAVINGS TIPS FOR KIDS OR ADULTS? THANK YOU.

Fridge Notes: MarieBelle Dark Croquette au Chocolat in Multi-Bar Boxes and Peanut Butter thinkThin Protein Bars

Can't buy them [plural]. Can't bring their happy party in. For future reference, a single would be okay.

When you lose, don't lose the lesson.

World falling apart, teenager depressed and can't say why. She feels awful, low. I feel awful, low. Overlap: Both feel helpless. To feel helpless as a teen must be scary and lonely; you haven't lived life yet, gone through ups and downs as much as adults have. Things can shock you, shake you, startle you. I do remember that part. You're really just learning to navigate rough seas on your own. To test waters. To question right and wrong.

To feel helpless as a mom is also scary and lonely. Add a big dose of powerlessness, some anger and impatience. Why can't you tell us what's going on? And even if you're deeply upset, there are right and wrong ways to act it out. Listen to us, we ought to know.

H. on his way back from Toronto. There's more to the story, way more, that's just too painful and private to share now. I hope the night plays out okay. Please say a prayer for us.

All in This Together
Just interviewed mom of two teen boys in Atlanta for magazine article. Last thing I felt like doing was an interview but have deadline. Liked her perspective on parenting teens.

"I was just telling my sister," she said, "that if they have a great day, the world is great," she said. "But if they have a bad day, the world feels awful. Then when they turn something around or figure out how to solve a problem, the world is good again."

Message on fridge: Can't buy treats like these in multiples. Too bad, b/c nice to have protein bars around for snack or breakfast. But can't. When world falls apart, they are too easy to turn to. To devour. To make disappear. Since can't do that with our problems.

I feel so low. So very, very low. No hope in sight.

Fridge Note: Mallomars

NEXT TIME, JUST DON'T BUY THE MALLOMARS!

Rest assured, they won't make it one bit easier to get through that very long to-do list for life and work.