Of course, one of my dreams is to be a published author of wildly popular stories. I am published - first part of that dream accomplished – the wildly popular part I have no control over but I’m working on it. I have loyal fans and I love them for that, but I feel I have let them down lately. That stops now. I am back!

Okay, so back to the other dreams. One thing I have always wanted to do – even before my itch to be a writer – is another artsy pursuit. I love refinishing furniture and reinventing small wood pieces with my own creative touches. My most recent piece:

This poor chair came to me – and, yes, I really said it “came to me” and I’ll get to that later – all beat up, parts hanging from missing or rusty nails, and in sad shape. When I saw it in the second-hand store, with its ugly dark wood finish, broken leg, and “ready to be cut up into kindling” look, I couldn’t resist bringing it home to bring it back to life. It begged me to take it home. How could I resist such a desperate plea from a once-beautiful piece that probably used to belong to a full dining room set and serve as valuable tool in a household of nice people. When it started crumbling under years of hard use the family discarded it. Sad. So, now it looks beautiful again. I refinished it in a pale pink with a light whitewash and silver glaze. You can’t tell from this picture but it glows with new life. 

I wonder if it was an accident that I happened into the store that day, or did the chair actually call to me to come get it…I have been having A LOT of psychic episodes lately…hmm…

My next project has even more personality. It’s a cute little chair and is still in the stripping process.

I have spent a couple of hours stripping several heavy coats of shellac (does anyone really use shellac anymore? I hope not) from the legs and seat to find a beautiful dark walnut under there. The chair leans to one side from wobbly legs, there are several splits in the wood and random nails and screws are barely holding it all together, but she’s a beaut, right? I love the decorative shape of the back piece, the turned spindles and smooth rounded seat -which, no doubt, got that way from years of use – and the delicate feet that have worked decades at keeping the old girl upright and support the weight of who-knows-who over the years. When I carried her to the cash register and stepped back to look at her, I hesitated…did I want to take on such a major project? I mean, she’s small but she would take a lot of work. Then I noticed how crooked she sat, leaning to one side, crying…I almost broke down and cried for her right then and there! Yeah, I know… weird to cry over a chair. But, hey, this chair just seemed like a little, brown eyed puppy to me and it had to go home with me! 

As soon as the layers of gaudy varnish and shellac started coming off I heard her talk to me…she said, “thank you.” It wasn’t loud, not obvious, more of a breathless whisper…but I heard it.  

As soon as I get down to the soul of this little chair – her bare wood core – I will start putting her back together, straighten her out, and pretty her up. Some people may consider it scandalous to put all that work into stripping this piece just to paint it again, I disagree. I strip each piece to get to the personality and let it tell me how to proceed.

This old girl wants to look pretty. She says she wants to be turquoise, a pale turquoise with a light umber tipping and finished with a metallic gold glaze. I know because I asked her.

The little chair is smiling.

I better get back to work, we have a long way to go!

I had a good time, learned a lot, and met a wide variety of people. There were roughly 30 people in my class and I – believe it or not – turned out to be the most naive and innocent of all things law enforcement. I knew going in that I had some things to learn, but I didn’t know just how much.

My favorite part? The gun range.

Yep, that’s me. I don’t know if the holes I inflicted are visible but, trust me, I effectively “killed” my paper opponent. I started with a 9mm then moved up to a .45. I liked the 9mm better for the control I had on it, the .45 was a little scary. So now I can say I have handled and fired a gun (two guns). Not curious anymore, don’t need to do it again.

The first night I spied this in the ladies room (in one of the stalls, actually), what you don’t see is the bullet hole in the wall behind the toilet. Guess that explains the need for this sign, huh?

One of our “field trips” was to the driving range where we were able to experience (or watch, as I did) the officers on the P.I.T. (Pursuit Intervention Technique)driving course. That’s when the cops get to ram…I mean, lightly tap…the bad guy’s car to end a car chase. I was glad I passed on the car rides here, it was loud enough just watching from the sidelines so I can only imagine how it felt in the back seat of the cop car…and a good goal in life is to never have to ride in the back seat of a cop car, anyway.

Aw, yes. The night of visiting the SWAT team headquarters. This is the ultimate “mancave” experience. If I didn’t know this was serious business I would have thought this place was every man’s dream garage. The technology, the hot vehicles…the hot men…umm, yes the serious, dedicated men of law enforcement. These guys are the real deal. Not a job for weaklings or wimps. This girl went all trembly inside just thinking about it. Anyway….

I wish I had more pictures to share but a lot of time was spent in the classroom…not good picture taking moments there. I will be attending graduation this week and bidding farewell to my fellow Academy-goers. I have learned a lot, suffered a little, and gained valuable insight for the book I am currently working on. That, basically, was my main intent in signing on for this experience. Every learning experience in life is valuable. As a writer, I need to hunt down every opportunity to strengthen my knowledge base and make my stories more accurate, more interesting, and more fun to write.

Anyone who knows me should understand why this is a stretch for me. I based my college thesis on the subject of Corporate America greed and corruption. I blame the origin of a lifetime of migraine headaches on that world. My caffeine addiction can be traced directly to my history there.

So why am I working for Corporate America if I claim to dislike – nay, hate - the very thought of the dreaded beast?

I needed a job.

It’s as easy as that. I needed a job so badly that I said “hell yes” when offered this one. At the time I figured, how bad could it be? I’ve been away from that world for many years now, could it be I only imagined the disease that is big business? Nope. It’s as bad as I remembered it.

Every weekday morning I drag myself out of bed and travel the dark route to downtown Des Moines, like a mouse in a scientist’s maze I take the same turns, stop at the same stop lights, mindlessly flow with the same group of early morning drivers headed for work. With my access card I open the gate that lets me into the company parking lot – just like everyone else – and park my car in my same parking space. I climb out – hitching up my shoulder bag of necessary snacks, lunch items and other provisions to get me through the day - then lock it behind me as I start my walk. A long walk so early in the morning.

Trudging across the parking lot, I wait for the light telling me it’s okay to cross the street then I proceed toward the mountain of stairs that will take me to the second level of the company parking ramp – the garage I don’t qualify to park in – and fall in line behind other Corporate zombies in the skywalk shuffle. A quiet, straightline course where nobody talks to eachother, they just aim their eyes forward and keep walking. With my access card I let myself into my building…can’t get anywhere without the access card.

Then it’s up to the sixth floor. I don’t take the elevator…too depressing, seeing all those seemingly comotose employees staring at the digital numbers ticking as the small cage climbs skyward. So I walk the rest of the way. By the time I reach sixth floor I am huffing and puffing but at least I know I am alive…the elevator doesn’t do anything to confirm that status. Like I said…too depressing. Oh, and my access card lets me out of the staircase when I reach my floor.

And I am there. It’s the same thing every morning with no exceptions. It’s the same thing at the end of the day only in reverse. 

I am fighting to not become a machine, fighting to stay sane, fighting to remain myself.

I am not a conformist. Never have been, never will be.

This is a temporary job…as far as I know. I will survive, I will learn from this situation then I will move on.

It’s what I do.

When I take a step back and look at it, I see that I am wrong. Yeah, I know…that was reeeeally hard to admit. Imagine, me, being wrong?

And I’m hard to please…a little bit.

Whew! That, too, was hard to admit!

But things are changing.

I have published – or am in the process of publishing – four books this year and have come to the realization that I can’t do everything for/by myself. I can write the stories – and I really enjoy that part – but I need help with almost everything else.

And that’s not a bad thing.

I want to support other talent out there. Why should I struggle to build a nice, functional website (and fail miserably at it) when I have a good friend who is extremely talented in that area and is a new small business that I should support, nurture and encourage? So Cheryl is now my “Webmaster” and I am lucky to have her.

Another area I will soon abandon is the book covers. I’m terrible at it. I know of several people who do that for a living, why not hire them to do it for me? Wonderful!

Of course, this all involves money. Can I afford to hire people to do these things for me? Little by little, one step at a time.

Then I can focus on the writing part of the business.

Oh, and promotion.

Selling and promoting my own books is tough, a lot of work, and yet so rewarding.

I get to meet people at book signings and other events, talk about my stories, hear comments directly from the people who read my books. I love it!

Sure, it’s a lot of work to set up these events, but the rewards are huge! Especially when you feel the excitement from your readers in person.

And that’s what it is all about, writing stories that readers enjoy and to keep them begging for more!

I am slowly building up to my Book Launch on October 6th of this year where I will release Book #2 Mystic Geek (Sable’s story) and #3 Mystic Whispers (Laurel’s story) of the Midwest Mystics series. As the day grows near, I feel the excitement building, the anticipation thrumming through me, and the days growing shorter when I realize how little time I have to put everything together.

Yikes!

I’ve got to get to work!

I’ll keep updating as we get closer!

Not just for a moment, not just in our dreams, and not just when we want to “get busy.”
What if every day, in all nations, all cities and every neighborhood…every one of us was naked?

Would the world be different?

Sure, changing things now would be…uh…challenging. We’d all take a good long look at everyone, judge them, lust after them, be disgusted by them. But at some point we’d get past that, once we got used to it. How long would it take for us to get used to it?

Could we get used to it?

Think of those people who’d be shocked by the idea. People hiding secrets, shameful secrets, embarassing secrets.

There are plenty who would embrace the idea with gusto and probably already spend time in-the-buff. Not just the nudists.

Perverts would be hard to distinguish from the “normal” people. How do you flash somebody if everybody is naked?

Would we put the nudists out of business? What would they do if they could no longer be different? Would they be the only people who ran around with clothing on? Shocking!

Think about how things would be different.

No more spending your money on clothing. No more trying to outclass your friends, neighbors or classmates with expensive fashion…no shoes? How would some women exist without their expensive shoe collections?!!

If everyone was naked all the time, not hiding their flaws behind layers of clothing, wouldn’t you think they’d take better care of themselves? Exercise more? Keep their weight down? Practice good hygiene? Shower, shave and exfoliate regularly?

You wouldn’t spend as much time getting ready for work each morning…no clothes to choose from, no time spent selecting from your “fat” closet or your “skinny” closet. It doesn’t have to fit, you’re naked!

Less time spent on laundry. If you got dirty, you bathed. Probably outside with the garden hose. No more dirt brought in the house.

But then…

I’m thinking there would be less sex.

Hear me out.

If you saw everybody’s naked bodies, all day long, every day of your life, in movement, doing every day tasks, jiggling when it’s not attractive to jiggle, body parts touching things…things that body parts should not touch. Other naked people sitting in public places….where you want to sit…leaning against surfaces you wanted to lean against…scratching themselves then touching a doorknob or just before serving you food…!

Nope!

What about dating? What do you look at across the dinner table? Gone is the game of imagining each other naked. No more strip tease in the bedroom between couples, no foreplay, no anticipation on that first date.

And I am an artist! I should be saying that the human body is a work of art!
Sorry, can’t do that.

Some are, some aren’t. But seeing everyone’s body all the time?

I think I like the idea of kept secrets.

Mystery.

Leave a little something to the imagination…PLEASE!

No, I’m not dead. Isn’t that what people normally say about people who have recently died…”oh that poor man, he is now finally at peace…” I never understood that. At peace? They are dead. Done living. No longer around. Gone from this world. Not dealing with life’s many wonders, stressors, pains….oh, I get it now. That would be peaceful.

But anyway….

I am at peace.

I have quit my second job this year. No longer working for “the man” and liking it…perhaps liking it too much, but liking it all the same. I am fully aware that I will need to get another job at some point but for now I’m liking the world of the “unemployed” and in no hurry to change my status.

When you are a creative soul, such as myself, having a “job” is such an annoying necessity and really only serves the purpose of paying the bills and keeping you from living under a bridge somewhere…not that there’s anything wrong with living under a bridge (I don’t want to insult people who are happy there)…but I prefer the modern comforts of four walls and a roof over my head, complete with mechanical conveniences such as toilet, shower, electricity, heat and modest a/c when needed.

I’ve never lived in extreme comfort, owning a very small older bungalow, buying generic, recycling whenever humanly possible, and making do with the cheapest of goods. I’m easily pleased with the simplest of life’s offerings. This makes it easier for me to live without certain things now that I don’t have a steady paycheck coming in.

But I gotta admit…money very definitely does buy happiness in most cases. I will not give up on the idea that I will win the lottery…I have plans for that money, after all!

Wanna know my plans?

You may think I want to buy a ridiculously expensive car, a huge house, and travel the world. That’s not my style. No.

Of course my first expenditure would be to pay off any and all my bills – I don’t have many but that will be first priority. Then I would pay off the bills for my family and closest friends. Nice, huh?

Then, I would start putting money into my itty bitty house. Yep! You read that correctly! I wouldn’t move…not right away, anyway. Surprising when you know the history I have with my too-close-for-comfort neighbors. But maybe I’m just being mean…sticking around just to annoy the neighbor lady. I have my moments…

Then I’d just relax and live. With whatever money I have left, I’d simply enjoy living. No more worrying about how I’m going to pay the bills each month, no more looking for a job that sucks the very life out of me, and no more scratching together enough money just to buy a new appliance, piece of furniture, or vehicle.

But I think I have strayed from my original point…I am at peace.

I have decided to take the month of July off to regroup, reenergize, reorganize, redecorate, and return to the life I am meant to live. I need to get back to “me” and this is the time to do it. No longer can I work at a job I am not built for or prepared to surrender myself to. I need to take this time to figure out how to pursue my life’s dream…gotta figure out what that dream is first, but now is the time.

To that end, I have a busy month ahead of me. I have already pulled out the paints and canvas, am writing like a maniac, and crafting like there’s no tomorrow! As soon as I walked off that last job it was like the creative side of my brain said “Hello, welcome back” and here I am.

I’m back!

It’s good to be back!

I have nurtured it, let it grow, helped create the life it will now lead as it leaves the shelter of its creator’s nest. My first story, my most treasured book.

When I started writing years ago – too many years to mention – I did it for fun and to purge old demons from my life. I would write my frustrations on paper then send them through the shredder, never intending to keep any of those babblings and certainly never wanting anyone else to see them!  Then one day I lost my job and I launched myself into a fantasy world of revenge on those who had wronged me…namely, the employer who dumped me after so many years of faithful service.

This anger and frustration manifested itself in the form of a revenge story.

Mystic Artistic is the name of that story.

After all these years, I have finally cleaned up the story and am publishing it. I’m excited. I’m scared. I’m proud.

This story started it all and I will now see it in printed form and get the feedback from other people who experience it for the first time…heaven knows I’ve talked about it to anyone and everyone, whether they listened to me or not. Anyone who knows me will recognize many elements of my life and my personality in  the characters of this story. It has humor, angst, magic, revenge, romance (okay, so that part doesn’t resemble me at all), and the quirky snarky attitude of its heroine (that does resemble me!).

Over the years I have written, re-written, and re-written, and re-written…and re-written this story so many times that the original psychobabble of a disgruntled suddenly-unemployed woman has disappeared and an actual story has taken shape, one that has developed into a three book series…or more, who knows?

This is my baby.  

My baby is almost ready to leave home and venture out there into the world to find a life of its own. Of all the stories I’ve written or will ever write, this one will remain the most important to me. A piece of myself lives in my characters, the story comes from deep inside me, and while writing it I felt personally involved in what happened to everyone as I wrote them into the story.

This is what writing is all about, the love of the story and the passion to write it.

This comes up now because I placed an order for 50 copies of my first paperback book. They are due to be delivered to me around the 17th of February. Exciting. Scary. Stressful. Nerve-wracking. Exciting.

I started out feeling excited but then sheer terror set in. What if my book is a flop? What if it’s not as good as I think (hope) that it is?  What if nobody else enjoys reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it? What if I spend all this time and money to promote this project and end up getting stuck with 50 copies of a poorly written, hack job of a book that I should be embarassed to call mine? What if…?

What if I had never written the story, never published it, and never put it out there for the whole world to see and never gave it a shot? I would never know, right? So, what the heck? Just like they say in the lottery…you can’t win if you don’t play. So I’m going to play!

One of the hardest parts of the whole project was writing my bio. I needed one for my website, for Amazon and for Smashwords (where my story is available to purchase), for the social networking sites I am listed on, and most importantly I have it in the back of my book.

I’m a writer, how hard could it be to just write about myself? I’ve known myself all my life…pretty much…and I know myself better than anybody else does. I know things about me and my life that nobody else knows (they may think they know, but they’d be wrong) and I know all my deepest thoughts, dreams, and failures. So why is it so hard to write something to introduce myself to people?

Because I’m a fraud, that’s why.

I’m not as strong and self assured as I would have people think I am. I’m a big ole chicken when it comes right down to it. I’m not sure I want people to know too much about me. Up to this point I’ve been able to hide behind a facade, a cleverly constructed, well orchestrated fortress of self confidence and strength.

So what do I write to make me sound interesting enough to make people want to read my stories? I need to break it down, the story of me:

- I’ve lived in the Midwest all my life (yeah, pretty boring)

- I love animals, can’t live without them (again, boring and yawn-worthy)

- I am an artist as well as a writer (not edgy enough)

- oldest in a set of twins (borrrr-ing!)

- accountant by day, writer by night (if I were an exotic dancer by night, now that would be interesting!)

- my favorite color is green (seriously, who cares?)

Now who would read anything by somebody with that bio? Let’s try and dress it up a bit, as though I am selling real estate.

Live in the Midwest…translate to: Live near the land of Toto and the Wizard of Oz but have never had a house dropped on me…yet.

Love animals…translate to: Love animals because in a former life I used to be one and remember everything from that former life.

Am an artist…translate to: love to paint on canvas by slathering my naked body with paint and rolling around on the floor, creating art as an extension of my flesh.

Oldest of set of twins…translated to: born a siamese twin and separated from my male twin when young.

Accountant by day…okay, there’s absolutely no way to make that sound interesting!

My favorite color is green…translated to: born into wealth, I’ve spend my lifetime trying to give away all my money (greenbacks) but have been unsuccessful since it keeps multiplying daily.

Which sounds more interesting? Oh, and I have some swampland in Florida I’d like to sell you…

My 50th birthday! Hard to believe but it’s true…hard to believe because I had a plan 2 years ago to really celebrate this one…and I mean REALLY celebrate it.

So when I thought I had 2 years to plan it, I struggled and stressed for 2 years on just how I’d go about doing that. Then next thing I know, I’m sitting here blogging about it, the day is more than half over, and I never did come up with anything.

I got up early this morning, hopped in my car and decided to spend the day by myself shopping and exploring my fair city. I ventured into the quaint little meccas of The East Village, Valley Junction and along the unique shops on Ingersoll Avenue. I had cash in my pocket and I was eager to spend it on myself, desperate to make the day special. It wasn’t special, it was just another day. I didn’t find anything to spend my money on, I couldn’t even find the perfect birthday card for myself.

Sad, huh?

I thought so…at first. Then I dug down deep inside of me and discovered something. I’ve been celebrating it already, for the past 2 years! I had a “50 new things to try before my 50th birthday” list - which I completed – and I kept a yearlong journal of adventures that I explored this year. I discovered so many things about myself and my surroundings that I have come through this year as a newly enlightened individual, ready to tackle to world.

And who says the day wasn’t special? If you live it right, every day of your life is special! I think it’s pretty darned special now that I came to this profound realization, it just cost me a whole tank of gas and 2 years of stress headaches to wake up and smell the roses.

The funny thing is, there are a million different ways to “celebrate” something. Throwing a party is only one idea, and not a very original one when you come to think about it. So I celebrated my 50th without even realizing it!

Another way of looking at things is that I don’t have to celebrate my birthday for just one day. Who came up with that crazy idea…celebrate just one day…PFFT! I intend to celebrate being 50 for the next 365 days and beyond!

I say YAY!

I’m 50!

And I have a whole year to celebrate that! I can’t wait to get started on the celebration…I’m already exhausted just thinking about it.