What Can I Stop?

Sydney, the Australian Shepherd who allowed us to take her home from the animal shelter a decade ago, was all a frolic and joyful when she saw me take out a plastic bag from under the kitchen sink. It's our little communication that it is time for a potty trip. Although she is taken out four times a day, it is still like a mini-doggie Disneyland excursion each time. She was hopping and full of glee, as only an old dog can muster, until the door was opened and she discovered the truly rare of San Diego...RAIN!

She looked back at me and kindly asked me to turn off that water. It was not her intention to wet her coat. That beautiful black, brown and white fur of which she is so proud does not smell nice when wet.

Well, I told her, I can't stop the rain. 

Humph! She answered, and made her way down the stairs with raindrops falling in her world.

So that got me to thinking about what else I can't do. I can't change the amount they put in 12 ounce cans, and I would like to be able to. What about all those times when I am at a 13 ounce thirst level? What am I supposed to do then? Bust into a whole 'nother soda and pour out the other 11 ounces? Talk about waste. I couldn't even mail it to some thirsty person because by the time they got it, it would be flat and lifeless.

I can't change the color of the sky when it rains. I mean, who picked gray? Gray is an indecisive color. It's always asking if it should be black or white and ends up being in-between. It's unsettling for everyone outside taking their dog for a potty run. When we look up, all we see is an ambiguous, non-color formed gray. 

And what about skunks? Aren't they like the cutest animal, ever? Watch one waddle on those four tiny legs, with the thick batch of fur, and the white racing stripes, and tell me you don't want one. If, that is, it weren't for their whole stink issue. Another thing I can't change.

(Someone out there is going to ramble on about skunk stink removal operations, but I'm not going to go around de-flowering skunks. They have their protective ego thing, and I have mine. Let's leave it at that.)

There has got to be one thing I can change with out missing up the grand scheme of things. Oh, I can go see the last of the Hobbit trilogies tonight and finally change my status of not knowing how they end the series. Well, that puts me back into control of my universe.

Thank you, oh heavens that be, for a smidgen of something I can stop.

Heather Leigh

Physical Body and the After Life

Last night I received another fantastic, mind-blowing massage by Erin of Organic Energetix. And while relishing in the feel of stress and muscle pain relief, my mind formulated this question: If, when we die, we leave behind our bodies and drift around as a soul (in heaven or where ever we end up), do we get to partake in the sensations of massage?

If I am body-less, what compensation is there for massage, a good hair shampooing at the salon, or a sugar scrub from a pedicure? Hand holding? Ear whispering? My cats licking tuna oil from my fingers?
This is a (almost) G-rated blog, so I will just refer to the things we do towards making babies.

As the After Life is always (unless you go to a place that is hot, of which I will not discuss as per my personal beliefs) tooted as being so great, what are they dishing out in replace of the good body stuff?
With out a tongue, can I taste sea salt, chocolate covered caramels, fancy Italian Cabernet, or Uncle Jerry's home made apple pie? With out ears, how do I hear ( I know I'm a classical music loving geek) Vivaldi's Four Seasons, my boys telling me they love me, or my friend Heather laughing with me at that Improv show we went to last week?

And don't get me started about the things I'd miss seeing with no eyeballs. I can spend hours watching palm tree fronds swaying in the wind and seeking out dolphins past the breakers on the beach. How do I feel sunshine on my skin, with out skin?

All of these tough questions have put my old dog into a deep meditative sleep. She'll probably wake with the answers, but have no voice to tell me. And no opposable thumbs to use a pen and write it down.

If she is having that many problems trying to communicate her answers, how do I pursue my love of writing with no brain matter when I die?

So, as the After Life is supposed to be great and all, I want, at the very least, a brochure as to what they offer souls when we leave behind our bodies. Because we are giving up a lot of good stuff here.

If you don't believe in the After Life, I hope you at least appreciated the irony and humor that his blog was making a stab at.

Have a wonderful day appreciating what the world has to offer the physical human body you are in right now,

Heather Leigh
current owner of a 46 year old, healthy body

Writer-loving Zombies

There is something wrong with me. Monday, December First, I spent ten hours completing the rough draft of 'Suicide Soda'. As some of you may know, I was a willing participant of the National November Writing Month (affectionately known as NaNovWriMo), and I wanted to get the book done, albeit a day late. The goal was clawing at me like a loving zombie with raccoon-like nails.

And now, rather than sit back and wait until November to write the next novel, that loving zombie is whispering into my ear ideas for my next series of young adult novels.

I'm an addict, aren't I? Where is that loving Intervention crew of friends and family to help me stop? Are they just going to stand by and let the Undead drool on my cheek with his fowl breath and rotten teeth? Is my team of supportive writing friends just a bunch of inebriated enablers?

And why didn't I wind up with a normal addiction, like Crack, or chardonnay, or chewing my hair? At least those wouldn't make me a social outcast. I mean, who wants to hang out with the writer? All we do is ask questions to get story ideas and ignore people when we're working. Boring.

I also want to share with you my story idea, but I have a superstition about talking about plots before I've written them: if I let go of the idea, it will drift away like a helium balloon and be captured by another writer, before I've even typed a word. And this also goes with why I HAVE to start writing it. If I don't start, someone in the world with telepathic abilities will read my mind and steal my fabulous story. In order for me to avoid this catastrophe, I HAVE to start writing NOW!

Did you have any idea writers were so crazy? Because, I think we all, at some level, have these ideas. I mean, it's not like we choose to write. It's more like the ideas come from that writer-loving Zombie and we are forced to type out the story to avoid being eaten by the Undead.

Okay, the zombie is now chewing on my ear, so I have to go write an outline. Eww, zombie spit is so gross.

Heather Leigh, friend of Zombies

Life In Review

Just now, just a second ago, I sent the next Scout and Ellie, The Beauty Pageant in for review with CreateSpace. This means that once they give the big thumbs up, it will be available for Amazon purchase.

This brings me to thinking about other things in my life that are up for review.

How about my dog, Sydney. She is old, lazy, and still melts my heart with those big brown puppy eyes. In the nine years that she has lived with us, I wonder how many walks we have taken her on. Have I done my job with giving her enough pee spots to smell at the dog park, trimmed her rear end fur  sufficiently to avoid dingle berries, pulled every tick from her body after hiking in tall grasses? What about attention...I would say she gets loads, but she would probably disagree. You see, there are times when I pet the cats, and she is not okay with that. So, hmmm, verdict is out as to whether or not I have been a good enough provider for our Australian Shepherd.

Second review item would be my sons. They are teenagers, so they are half-way formed into adulthood. They both allow me to be seen with them, text me when they need something, and allow me in their rooms. These are all good signs--right? AND, neither have been arrested, only one broken bone each, and have never done hard drugs. All positive signs. I'll even go further than that. They are both intelligent, good-looking, and awesome. I am not just saying that because I'm their mother--it is actually true!

Guess now it's time to review my self. My kids are great, so my parenting skills must not suck. I have never forgotten to feed the animals, the cats sleep on my head at night, so they must like me, and I even clean up their poop. Scout and Ellie, The Beauty Pageant, is my 8th published book, so I'm following my bliss as a career choice. My family seems to like me--unless they are faking it to be polite. I even have friends who will hang out with me.

On the other hand, I have an addiction to chocolate--but what woman doesn't? I am the worst decorator and house cleaner in the United States: be sure to call ahead when coming to visit. I preach about the grossness of coca-cola, but secretly love those bottled cokes from Mexico. After every chapter I write, I sneak in a game of Mahjongg. I start listening to Christmas Carols in November and The Sound of Music is my favorite movie. Eating cheese gives me gas. I don't floss enough. I still believe some men have cooties. My weight info on my driver's license is not quite correct (but in the general ball park!). That divinity chocolate great-aunt Diane made every year because she thought it was was my favorite? Secretly hated it. I fell on my face and ripped my jeans the one time I tried to skateboard with my sons.

So, in review of my life thus far, I declare myself--fair-to-middlen. How about you? Can you stand up to the review of your life?

Heather Leigh
Author and mid-level on the life review scale

Story Character Anarchy

Story characters can be mean, heartless individuals with no respect for an outline. They have been known to put the no in no-respect. And I have been their latest victim. Here is the setting: I have been full of writer pride; pumped up with the fact that I actually finished the outline for Suicide Soda. Showing off to friends, patting my back, thanking the often elusive Goddess of Writer Outlines, I have been totally jacked up with a smooth, sleek, polished outline. Even my eight grade English teacher would have been amazed by it.

And then--WHAM-O!!! That adventure seeking character, Jack, suddenly decided he wanted to change everything. Ignoring the path set for him, he decides that he wants to liven things up. Add some vodka to the juice, some passion to the air. Did he even ask me if it was okay to change the outline? Even send me a memo of warning that an alteration might be on it's way?

NO. He just waltzed right in and messed up everything I had carefully lined up to happen. And I am now being treated like an outsider. I was there when he was created, for goodness sake. Don't I deserve some respect?

And who can I turn to for help? Is there a Writer Outline Crises line for me to call? A division of the police force that could arrest Jack for his crime? What about an intervention group for fictional characters who blow off their inventor.

So this leaves me stuck with an outline that has to be massaged, caressed and wooed back into life.

AND, I have to admit to my writer friends that I no longer have a completed, beautiful-beyond-compare outline. OH, the tragedy of it all.

When I started writing stories for fun, why didn't anyone warn me that this stuff can actually be difficult?

Heather Leigh,
Author of Stories and Victim of Characters

Nerd Writers Are People Too

Yes, I see that it has been three weeks since my last posting. Before you stab me with a pitchfork, call out the attack dogs, or send out flying monkeys to pick my up and drop me at the feet of the wicked witch, please hear my extremely valid excuse: this is National November Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo.com)

For those of you not in the 'know', this is a fine organization in which crazy, stupid, foolhardy writers with no soul or legitimate thought processes volunteer to write a novel in a month. I know what you are thinking. You already thought writers were a bit eccentric, a tiny glimpse of functioning madness, chaotic, disturbed human beings, and now you have proof. Yes, it is all true what you have always known. We are that kind of weird.

We have committed our selves to writing a fresh, new, from scratch novel--fifty thousand words in thirty days. In order to get this done, we give up house work, friendships, dog walking, and even nightly glasses of Cabernet in the name of the great and holy novel. We are that dedicated.

--Okay, I'll admit that giving up housework was not a rough thing for me. And, if you have ever seen my house before or during NaNoWriMo, you would probably not really notice any great change. But aside from that, the other things that are let go of are a hardship.

Okay, well, admittedly, I still walk the dog. Sydney does need the exercise and I crave fresh air. But the only social activity of which I have been a apart of, is attending Write-ins with my friend Karen. I hope it's cool to mention her name. She might not want to share the fact that she has also signed up to be a member of the collective lunatics.

Write-ins are the extreme in Nerd Sports. You may have glimpsed one at a restaurant or coffee shop. It would be a group of people, quietly hunched over laptops, immersed in their made-up world. It's how we bond. And gives us a place to focus, without ever feeling guilt about dirty dishes or friends we will not communicate with until December first.  We are a pathetic crew. If you are a witness to a Write-in, please pretend you don't see us--don't degrade yourself by being a party to our embarrassing behavior. Save yourself, and just walk away.

The only thing I ask of you non-writers, is that you hold a particle of understanding for your writer friends. Yes, you may be an enabler by not doing an intervention on us, but, we need this month. It may be the only way we can function in society for the other eleven months of the year. And it will take us until next November to re-write, revise, critique, polish, and hopefully publish our novel.

I don't know if the end justifies the means, but I hope that we can slide through this month and remain a part of society. Please hold on to us November novelists like the book mark that you treasure and know that we will return to the world--at least until the holidays when we can share a bottle of Cabernet.

Until then, have a wonderful life. You will hear from me again, I just can't promise when.

Heather Leigh
admitted addict of NaNoWriMo

Laughing Away Ego

So, the word ego is now being used as the stuff in us that is uncool, negative, and yucky. It is vanity, anger, blame, whining, and ignorance. My dog gets it as a disease when we come home to a house strewn with kitchen garbage about the floor--how it got there is the fault of the cats. Then she feigns guilt and shame. Ego is our defense in a crazy world; it is an attempt to keep us protected, safe and sane.

But the reality is that ego goes a bit too far in it's pursuit of happiness. It becomes a suit of armor that blocks us from a freedom of forward movement in our life. It needs to be tamed, comforted and laid to rest.

How do we tame our inner dragons of ego that are sucking away at our freedoms of joy and bliss, love and peace? The first step is recognition. Then responsibility for the actions that we chose.

And here is the part that I want to play in serving humanity. I want to help kids face, recognize and watch from a safe place the stupid silly forms that ego can come about in their lives. And here is the really fun part of my job, as I am choosing it:

I want to do this through laughter

Okay, so there you have in a nutshell analysis what I want to be when I grow up.

All of this big sophisticated talk brings me to my present project. The story is about a pre-teen girl with an ego flirtation with vanity. In order to make the flirtation in-your-face obvious, her actions and words get a bit extreme. What fun would there be if they were not? Kids reading it will recognize her ego, but not see the same within them selves. Well, not at the surface level. But at that super-duper deep level that only the truly brave (and/or stupid) ever visit, is our recognition of our own vanity ego.

So, to get more concrete and personal about what I am talking about, here is my example:

A few days ago, I was booking a train reservation for my son. I waited until the day before to buy the ticket on-line. My other son had told me that they sell-out, and that I should buy the ticket in advance. But I scoffed at such nonsense. Surely the ticket would be at the cheapest rate available for me, where and when I was ready to buy.

You know where this leads, don't you? You smart reader you. When I got on-line to buy it, there was one ticket left at the cheap price. As I was attempting to purchase it with my credit card, there was a problem with the system accepting my information. By the time everything was figured out, someone else had snaked their way in and bought that last cheap ticket. The only one left was at full price. 

But this could not be my fault!!! It was the fault of their system (ego of blame). This should not have happened to me (ego of vanity). How could I have to pay more on my budget (whining)? I called the Customer Service line and they would not reimburse me. I explained in a rude, loud voice that this was not my fault (not accepting responsibility). 

The Service Rep was calm and polite but would not budge in giving me a better price. So, I had to pay the extra because of that mean, old, scamming system out to get me.

I guess I will give myself recognition that it only took about an hour for me to figure out that the whole thing really was my fault. Had I bought the ticket last week, I would have saved $75. 

Looking back, I am finally ready to laugh at my self. My silly, crazy, blaming others, self; resorting to anger and reactivity. Laughter feels better than anger, any old day of the week.

And I want to teach this to children through stories: that an ego is a protection system gone completely haywire. It does not help them. But as an obvious message in a story blows the fun of reading it, please don't let your children know what they are learning when they read my words. It will just be our little secret.

OH, and never ever in a million ga-zillion years let the ego know what is going on in my books. That mean, nasty ego will keep your children far away from the stories, if it knows what is happening on the pages.

Are you ready to keep such a big secret to yourself? I'm trusting you. Be good.

Heather Leigh

Author of Laughter