February has been good to me.

Like always, when spring shows up, I wake up feeling…better. Stronger. There’s a smell to spring, and even though we got hammered by snow yesterday and the day before, and there may be more before the weekend is out, I’m feeling good. Like the earth is coming to life again.

Of course, the fact that the sun is up while I’m walking to work definitely helps. Even the woman puking in a trash can on the bus didn’t get me down. (No, I’m not joking.)

My brain is getting creative again. I’ve been struggling with a rewrite of Cait’s book since I finished up Nano, and was in my usual winter doldrums, convinced I would never have another idea for another book again (even though there’s last year’s Nano project to rewrite), and convinced that Ms. Agent, despite her politeness, will reject the book out of hand again.

And then yesterday, I had one of those moments. Those moments that most artists know, and it’s very difficult to describe to the normies. The kind of moment that makes me think that ADD isn’t all bad. The moment where I see a world, crystal clear, and see what’s going on there. Where I think — oh, yes, that’s how that’ll go.

Once I knew her name — Min — there was no turning back. Not sure what Min is short for yet (and am accepting suggestions), but I am fairly sure that she loves James, although she’ll never admit it to him, and she would die for her brother Peter, and I think her father’s disappearance is more nefarious than she will know for a long time.

I get the idea that Min is going to be patient, but insistent. I’m keeping notes on what I’m hearing from her, but asking her to hang out while I finish up with Cait, while I revisit Shannon. I promised her I’d check in with her when I come back from the land of the elves (they’re not as nice as you think). She’s nodding, and I think she’s spinning at a wheel. I think that might have more power than she thinks, too, but time will tell.

I love spring time.

It’s a good world out there. I feel better about it than I have all winter (as usual).

It’s going to be a year full of weddings. My friends Aaron and Laura are getting married in June, my sister and her long-time fiance in July, my friends Jeremy and Angel are talking about fall. I like weddings. Jana and Douglas got the call that their baby is waiting for them in Korea, and they should be able to go get him in the fall. I love babies.

For the first time, I feel convinced that 2010 is going to be a very good year.

Growing Up

So, the story that I was working on for the past few months — this is not the story about the sisters, the one that the agent is currently wrapped in utter and total adoration for, or at least is currently browsing through the full — was about adoption. It was a straight story, no fantasy, no edge, no ghosts or witches waiting to jump on scene. And it was as close to my story as I think I’ll ever get to actually telling. When I first started writing it, I felt incredibly ready. I felt like I could finally bare this, show the corners that no one ever talks about. The darkest parts. It started like this:

I know that I’m supposed to think of Tom and Sylvia as my parents, and they are, in all the important ways. They tucked me in at night and went to my kindergarten graduation and held my hair while I puked the first time I got drunk. So it’s the party line of all adopted kids. Your parents are the one who raised you.

Here’s the truth we never say when you’re listening: it’s a lie. It’s not the same. We miss our biological parents, even when we never met them.

I got about 30 pages in, all the character building and world building going easily. And then I got to the part where Lia, my MC, was going to meet her sister for the first time. And it all just fell through my fingers like so much vapor. I was too caught up in “What will Frank/Erin/Mom/Dad/whoever think if they read this? If I say this? If I tell the truth?” And you can’t tell a story like that. You can’t tell the boldest truth if you’re torn into tiny pieces, mincing around what’s actually happening.

So I’m backing off. And I’m proud of it. Because I’m not freaking out, telling myself that I’m a terrible writer, or that if I just fight through, I can still tell this story. I’m starting to think that writing about adoption is my version of tilting at windmills; I can’t see straight enough to tell the truth about it. It still has too many dark corners in my heart and mind for me to tell a story about it. Previously, stopping a story after 30 pages would have caused weeks of depression, followed by months of self-flagellation, before finally giving up and working on something else.

This week, while on my morning with Lucy, a new story flashed into my mind. And I thought, what the hell? Let’s go with it. So, off we go. I think I’ve convinced my MC to be named “Sarah” instead of “Caroline”, and that’s helpful. Don’t ask me why, but I really didn’t want to write about some chick named Caroline. Maybe because it will always make me think of Ma Ingalls.

Look at me, growing up. I know.

How do I keep from going months without posting?

Wait, I know, find more time in the day! hahahahaahahaaa… oh, wow, that was a knee slapper, wasn’t it?

I’ve been well, these past few months. Overtired, overbusy, overworked — but well. Knitting somewhat took a summer holiday, although it’s picked back up now-a-bouts, and if the sun comes out today, I will see if I can take everything outside and give you some works in progress to ogle, but I promise nothing.

Last night, we had my brother and his new girlfriend over for dinner — we like her much better than the last girlfriend — and dinner was a huge success. I haven’t cooked tofu since I tried to be a vegetarian in high school, and it always came out slimy and bland. An online recipe suggested frying the tofu BEFORE you do anything else to it, and then marinating it, and that came out very well. I also roasted some potatoes and zucchini with olive oil, which would be uneventful, except the potatoes were the VERY SAME POTATOES that I had grown THIS VERY SAME YEAR. None of them were as big as my hand, even, but oh my goodness they were good. I never knew that potatoes were a different (whiter) color when you took them straight out of the ground, instead of buying them at the store.

And then, Natalie and Chris had been asked to bring over ice cream to go with brownies; they brought all the fixings for sundaes that a girl could want. Delish.

Other news is that I finally got my courage together and mailed off some query letters to agents. (!!!) So far, most of them came back within 24 hours with a thanks-but-no-thanks, but the most recent agent has had it for three of the four weeks that they state is their response time. Of course, I’ve turned the peak of the mountain, and instead of being convinced that they are interested, I’m convinced that they’ve lost it; the official “four weeks” will pass this Wednesday, and if I haven’t heard back, I will send a polite check-in email on Monday. But I’m just excited to be trying to start this process, this business of becoming more “professional.”

Robb starts school at the end of the month; Lucy is talking in three and four word sentences. It’s crazy around here, I tell ya.