Guest Blogger

Today, I offer up the prose of my ten year old daughter, Hannah. Enjoy!

1998 –2008 My First Ten Years
A memoir by Hannah Roberts

There were a lot of things I couldn’t do when I was little.

When I was 5 the deep end of the pool was dark, mysterious, and scary to me.
Now I happily dive in.

When I was 6 I could only see the top of my head in the bathroom mirror.
Now I am almost as tall as my mom.

When I was 7 I couldn’t bounce a basketball without losing control.
Now I play on a basketball team called the Eagles.

When I was 8 I loved to play Barbies with my friends. Now I think Barbie dolls are kinda dumb.

When I was 9 I cried about my dog dying…. yeah I’d still do that!

Now I am 10 and I know that friendship means we stick together no matter what, my parents may not always know what they’re doing, and even if I can’t do a lot of things, I can learn how.

Miss You Mom!

Miss You Mom!

Another poem

Quick update: I lost internet after a switch to a new ISP. Everyone's computer but mine could connect. Nobody knew how to fix it. I seem to have poor luck with anything electronic these days! But all is well now.

We're experiencing one of the biggest snow storms Seattle has ever seen. I have a foot of snow at my house. I love the hush that snow provides, but if I lose my power I suspect the snow will lose its beauty.

Sean has done it again! I like this poem very much. In this English assignment, his poem needed to portray a paradox. I think he also manages a bit of a transformation here as well. No, he is not an angst-filled teen; he is actually a well-adjusted young man with a great imagination, the inability to put his dirty socks in the clothes hamper, and a little too much RPG experience :)

Death
By Sean Roberts

Life is existence.
Living.
Breathing.
Sleeping.
But, is it really life?
Are you free?
Do you have power?
Are you always happy?
Are you sure?

Death is nonexistence.
Your soul,
Your spirit,
Living in an invisible world,
Spying on the ones,
Who appear to be living.
Watching as the world unravels.
Watching as new souls are prepared for torture.
Knowing that soon,
It will be your turn again.

Is it truly life we experience?
Or is it death?
Vessels to a spirit who cannot roam free,
A spirit waiting to get out,
Waiting to live as it pleases,
Not needing food,
Not experiencing pain,
Not experiencing sadness,
Able to live with freedom.

Life is Death.

These things sneak up on you

The revisions are going much more slowly than I'd hoped, but I should give myself some credit for all the muddling-through I've done. I now have 8 chapters that are clean and revised to the plot changes. Considering what I've gone through since May, I guess I should give myself a bit of grace. But I discovered that there was something getting in my way of the revisions: ME.

See, I guess I didn't give myself any time to actually absorb the losses of my parents. I kept skimming over the emotional drama, focusing on what needed to be done. I kept myself busy, in family life and writing life, working on the plot of my novel, honing character goals, zooming in on the conflict and story arc. All very good avoidance techniques. I've LOOKED like I was handling my losses. I've talked about handling them, but I just kept going and going and going and finally, I couldn't cope, emotionally. Classic, huh?

Today, I feel like I'm getting my life back together. Funny thing is, I wasn't aware that it was falling apart. Being a writer, I wrote my way through it: I opened a vein and bleed on the page. It helped.

My first hurdle was to accept that I am not ready to find an agent to sign with and that's not the end of the world. I imagine it's okay if I use the group agent appointment as a learning experience, a practice run, a place to learn about the business end of the craft. I'll ask if it's okay to pitch my story, just for practice.

I'm very excited to be attending the Emerald City Writer's Conference Oct 10-12th! Everyone I've met from the GSRWA has been delightful, funny, enthusiastic, and successful --- ohmygosh these writers are driven! They are a motivating bunch. I don't write romances (although my stories all seem to have a relationship at the heart), but if you want to learn the business of writing and selling novels, the best place to start learning is to become a member of RWA and start attending chapter meetings and conferences. These writers know the ins and outs of the craft, and they are the most welcoming and FUN bunch of writers you'll ever meet.

Totally random thoughts

Sorry - I've sort of filled this in throughout the last two days as time permitted. I think I'll leave it as is, even though it's rough and raw. Enjoy!

There's a gremlin following me around. Everything electronic that I touch is doomed to failure and I blame MySpace.

I bet you think I'm kidding.

Ever since I first created a MySpace page, I've been plagued with computer troubles. I can't visit MyPage without having MyComputer lock up. I get viruses every time I try to update the page or reply to messages. Friends and relations have no troubles with their pages, but mine is evil. I'd blast the sinister thing into the MySpace graveyard if I thought I could do it without toasting another hard drive.

So my beautiful new computer - the one I bought after MySpace burned up my last laptop - is crippled. I love my HP Pavilion Notebook PC, but I'm thinking seriously about a Mac. I am so darn sick and tired of viruses. Every time I get hit with one, I lose at least a week of writing. I can't sync my Blackberry to my PC because the software won't load. I can't load my new Zep CD on my iPod. Outlook Express freezes up on me half the time, so I shut down and restart and get the same messages over and over. I can't run a virus scan without removing and reinstalling my virus software every time. And on and on and on. It never ends!

But on to other things :)

The Emerald City Writers Conference is less than a month away. I'm so excited to be attending this conference! Last weekend, I attended my first ever GSRWA meeting and all I can say is -WOW! What a great bunch of writers! I say that not just because they've all been fun to get to know, but because there are so many productive, successful writers in the group. I find it very motivating to hear what's working for other writers, how they've persevered through the submissions process and succeeded. One writer said, "Whew! And I thought writing was hard!"

Normally, fall is a productive time of year for me. I've been going through the motions, but not getting as much done as I'd like, probably because there are some days when I still feel like I'm on autopilot. On the way to the parent/child book club today (yes, I started that up again even though I'm loaded down pretty heavy as it is) my daughter Hannah started crying about missing Grampa and I joined in. And all day Monday, I had to field the question, "How was your summer?" I totally wasn't prepared to answer that yet.

I volunteered to be the team parent for my son Sean's football team. It's a small job, but to me it's huge. Taking on anything right now is huge to me, but I have to get out there and do it. Life goes on. I also attended a PTA meeting tonight. With both parents' illnesses last year, I could never fit a PTA meeting into my schedule. This year, I want to be involved. Sean is a great student and loves going to school. My goal with Hannah this year is to teach her the self-discipline a good student needs.

There is absolutely no closure for a random post like this! LOL if this were a draft of a story, I'd wad it up and toss it in the recycle bin!

Energized by productivity

It's amazing how energized I feel when I get some writing done.

With all the demands on my time, I often feel as if I have to "steal" writing time. Part of me thinks that's a mommy-guilt stereotype, but there is always an element of truth to stereotypes. I am definitely not a stereotypical wife, mom, sister, friend, daughter, etc. so I can't imagine I'd follow any stereotypes. Still, one can't ignore the element of truth: my family is my first priority. I can't just pretend they don't exist, and usually, I don't need to. We coexist peaceably, the wife and mommy and writer and me.

However, something about this past summer's emotional turmoil made it hard for me to assume my writerly role full time, or even part time. My writerly self barely existed. So here I was, ready to get back to the novel, and my life had revolved around everyone else and all the things that needed to be done for 3 months. Getting my writing time back was not easy. I had to physically remove myself from my family in order to get anything done. I had to put my foot down and make it known that I WAS WRITING!

Let's hope the transition is complete and I don't have to do that again. Although, I must admit, it was fun to go sit in the B&N Cafe, sip a mocha, and do nothing but write. I could get used to that....

Hello, Old Blog

I'm trying to get my old routines back after the crazy summer I've had. We're gearing up for the school year, I'm rushing to my self-imposed deadline, and I'm still (of course) going through the process of grieving. But life is good. More later.

Goodbyes

It was bound to happen. The events of the last 5 months caught up with me and I could not figure out what to say on my blog.

I still don't know what to say. I guess I'll free-write and see what happens.

My mother Sarah died on July 14th. I flew to Mexico on the 15th. After spending the first night tossing back tequila shots in Mom's honor and waking up with a brutal headache at 4:30 in the morning, my sisters and I spent a week at Mom's house.

Her house was hollow without her there. I experienced my first intense moment of loss.

We boxed, sent, donated, signed, arranged, informed, and planned: all the things we are still in the process of doing for our father's affairs, and, sadly, still going through for my sister's husband. There are so many little things to take care of when someone dies. My brother stopped in now and again (he and his wife stayed at a hotel). We began the process of mourning together. Don't get me wrong: we had some great laughs, my sisters and I, but we all decided we're getting sick of this end-of-life business.

We don't want to be "strong" anymore.

Sisters are a blessing. As I said to a friend of mine in an email, those of us who have sisters know how truly wonderful it is to be able to love someone unconditionally. My sisters and I have had our differences but they've never marred our love for each other and seldom interfered in our relationships. In the past 5 months, we've leaned heavily upon each other. Sisters are there for each other, period.

One of the reasons I haven't posted on my blog is because I've been troubled by someone's very rude behavior during this difficult time in my life, behavior that was hurtful. Over the last week, I've asked myself many times what I should do about this person and I keep arriving at the same conclusion: let it go and move on. I don't need negativity in my life. I'm sad to see the relationship dissolve, but one thing I've learned is that my contentment is not dependent upon the actions of others; it lies within me.

With the negativity behind me, and the grieving resumed, I was finally able to get in a good chunk of writing time today.

Stepping Stones

I've stalled posting on my blog for weeks. I told myself I was waiting for things to calm down a bit, but I suspect I've not posted because I've wanted to avoid going through emotions I'm not sure I'm capable of expressing.

From the 19th to the 26th, I was in Mexico with my mother. I've posted before about her cancer. Our visit this time was bittersweet: we found a fulfilling end to our relationship. Through the simple act of caring for her physical needs during these final days of her life, she and I bonded in a way that can only happen when you've stripped away all the aspects of this earthly life until all that remains is the fact that life ends. Things that seemed important fall away, and you have only the love and the need to ease pain.

As I write this, I'm waiting for the call from one of my sisters or my brother, telling me that her suffering is over. I think that's why I've put off posting on my blog, although I don't know why. Finality, maybe? Closure?

Just 4 weeks ago - a few days after my father's death -my mother sent me an email about my father's memorial:
"I will miss having your dad here in this world, too. We were married for 22 years, and a lot of those years were good years. And as I told him, I would always love him for giving me 4 marvelous children. Without him, you 4 wouldn't be here."

She asked me to share these words at my father's memorial. On the 25th, my two sisters arrived in Mexico to help me with my mother's care. I returned home to Seattle late at night on the 26th in order to prepare for my father's memorial service. On the 27th, my sister Nancy was at the Mazatlan airport, boarding the same flight my brother Michael took to Mexico to be with our mother. Nancy and Michael shared tears and touched their hands on the glass separating the international arrivals from the departures. Michael and his wife Patty are there to say their own goodbyes and to help my sister Kathy who had requested to be with Mom at the end.

So on Saturday, June 28th, the day that would have been my father's 81st birthday, we held his memorial services. Nancy and I were there in body, Kathy and Michael were there in spirit, and we were surrounded by our family members and our closest friends. The service was beautiful. In her homily, Mother Cynthia captured everything the four of us had rambled about in meetings and emails while we we planned the memorial. After the services, I felt lighter and happy from the joyful celebration of my father's life.

On another day, when I'm not waiting for the phone to ring in the middle of the night, I'll post about seeing my uncle Dan again and my cousin Jim. I'm so glad they travelled from San Jose to Seattle to be at my father's memorial.

Each day of our lives has a purpose. The events of your day may be stepping stones to something you've worked hard to get to, a purpose of your own. But if it's your day to help someone else across the pond, embrace that day as well and live it fully. I believe that my purpose these past 5 weeks has been to help others along on their journey, and if I hadn't allowed myself to be distracted from my own goals, I would have missed so much.

Learning to Walk Again

Last night, my sisters and I sifted through decades of my father's photos and that was just from one of his many large boxes of photographs. The experience was bittersweet. The memories and the decades of his life surrounded us. Yet how can the vitality and diversity of my father's life be depicted in something as two-dimensional as a photograph? There was so much more to the man than boxes of photographs can reveal to the world: the ups and downs of his life, the people he knew and loved, the dreams he held.

The task of presenting his life in photographs at the memorial seems daunting.

I'll be travelling to Mexico to visit my mom later this month. I feel the clock ticking away the time I have left with her, and with all I'm experiencing in mourning my father, I want to embrace the days she has left.

My house is a mess: the laundry and dishes and vacuuming and dusting have all seemed so unimportant, and the remodel work has been on hiatus. But I think my husband feels the same as I do: it's time to pick up one foot and put it in front of the other. Work and dreams and goals have all been difficult to concentrate on, but now they are welcome distractions. We're easing back into our lives, trying to figure out where we left off.

Madison Leigh encouraged me to look into a local contest. Thank you, Mad :) I'm polishing the first 7 pages of my mystery manuscript in preparation for the GSRW Emerald City Opener Contest. Even though the Emerald City Writer's Conference is in October, the deadline for the contest is only days away, so I'm brainstorming titles. The Art of Deception was only a working title - it fit the very first draft of the story. The revised version is so much better than the first draft that it deserves a more appropriate title.

So, 7 polished pages and a better title. First one foot and then the other.

Say It Again

I spent the week with my father. He was in the hospital, about half an hour from my home. In 2004 - he would have been 76 then - he needed a pacemaker. In December 2006, he needed a mechanical valve. This time, he needed an ICD, which is a pacemaker and a defibrillator.

Sure, he wasn't happy about being in the hospital. Who is? He was preoccupied with work even though he wasn't feeling good. He wanted to be home with his dog, Tasha. He was angry and frustrated part of the time.

But there were times when we talked to pass the time. He told stories and he laughed and he let the nurses and techs tease him. And there were times when we simply sat and didn't talk at all.

His heart was just too weak, though, and the congestive heart failure too strong. He died last night.

It's cliche, but I wish I could go back to my last conversation with him. He wanted to call his work crew and let them know he wouldn't have any jobs for them this coming week. I told him we could call them Sunday or Monday, but right then he needed to rest. I held his hand and tried to comfort him. But I wish I could have a do-over and say something different.

So I'm going to say it all now:
Thank you for being a loving father. Thank you for setting a good example of how a strong faith in God can help a person find peace and happiness in life and help them gain perspective and a healthy dose of humility. Thank you for telling me you love me, for believing in me and cheering me on, and for being my biggest fan. Thank you for wanting to be a part of my life. It's such a simple thing, to love another person, yet relationships can be complicated. With you, it's easy. Thank you for loving my husband. For loving my children. For admiring me for homeschooling. For allowing me to care for you when you're sick. I admire you, Dad, because you accept your faults and you forgive me for mine. I love your bad jokes. I love how you always sound so happy to see me or to hear my voice on the telephone. I appreciate that you respect me enough not to sugarcoat anything: your honesty shows how much you believe in my strength. I love you, Dad. I'll miss you so very much.

Say it

As writers, we pull emotions into our writing from experiences - our own and by placing ourselves into the hearts and minds of others, sometimes strangers and sometimes people who never existed at all. Emotion on the page transforms a story from a succession of words to reality in the writer's mind and therefore in the reader's mind. We imagine what it must be like to experience tragedy or comedy; we walk into a different world and picture the sights and sounds; we project ourselves into the future or the past or perhaps just the next town over. But mainly, we envelop ourselves in the emotions of characters we've created, a strange mix of people we know and people we imagine.

I've had plenty of emotional experiences to pull from lately.

Last week, my husband and kids and I traveled to Mexico. My mom wanted to see them one last time. She's nearing the end of her battle with breast cancer. It's hard to imagine that my mom, so real in front of me, so THERE, could possibly not be here in the near future. Cancer isn't a part of who she is; it's an ailment that has pushed its way into her life and invaded her body. An unwelcome guest. An intruder. It's not who she is and it doesn't define her. I want it to go away and leave her alone. But it won't. It's an alien using her body as a host and eventually it will win.

It may take her body, but it won't take my mom away from me, not in the real sense. She will always be a part of my life. All the experiences we've shared, the good and the bad, all that's formed our relationship, will forever be part of me. I am the youngest of her 4 children, and I see her in each of us. What's strong and true in Mom is evident in the way her children are facing the remaining time with her, in how we are banding together and reinforcing our bonds, in how we can laugh and feel the sorrow and the joy of this time.

My siblings and I live near each other in the Seattle area while Mom lives far away in Mexico, a distance that has been difficult for all of us. The demands of job and family here at home add further difficulties. But when I'm down there, it all melts away. I shuck the guilt and the responsibilities slowly, day by day, until all that remains is me and Mom and a peace that makes words unnecessary, but I speak them anyway. Just to let her know one more time.

NECRWA Conference

ONLY ONE MORE DAY!

It feels like I've spent days getting ready, from making arrangements for the kids for while I'm gone to deciding what shoes to wear with my LBD.

New faces, lots of love

February is over and I'm rather happy to see it go. 'Nuff with the sadness. March has been very good so far. Alan's memorial made for a wonderful day, one I won't likely forget. The forecast was rain but we had sunshine and fair temps. Lots of love, lots of laughter. And I am blessed with two new arrivals to the family.



First is our new dog, Frederick Von Zack the 27th Junior, otherwise known as Fred E. (Don't ask.) He's a loveable, scruffy, mixed breed 5 year old with good manners and a happy disposition. At times, I find myself thinking of Sadie when he looks at me with all that love and trust. His paw print is already indelibly etched upon all of our hearts.

The second is the birth of my new niece, Berlin Rae, brought into this world by my husband's baby brother and his wife. Berlin is TINY! 6lbs 6oz. We thought she might be born on leap day but she decided to wait until March 3rd. Mom, Dad and baby are all doing well. I'm going to meet Berlin on Tuesday and I can't wait to hold her. Um, and give my brother- and sister-in-law hugs :)





Finally, March has brought the return of Devlin, my muse. Perhaps all he wanted was a name.

Saying goodbye to my brother-in-law

Alan Wesley Batchelor
August 18, 1958 to February 21, 2008

Alan passed away in his home in Sultan on Thursday, February 21st. He is survived by his wife Kathy, his three adult sons Bryan, Andy (Cyndi), and Brad, his granddaughters Lily and Andrea, his mother Nina, and his sister Diana. He was preceded in death by his father Al. Family members and his many friends will remember Al for his loyalty and his laugh. During their nearly 30 year marriage, Al and Kathy lived in Bellevue, Lynnwood, and recently Sultan, making lifelong friends everywhere they went. Al worked as an automotive technician for many years and as a truck driver for the past 8 years. He was quick to help his friends with their car troubles. Al had a passion for Harleys and billiards, and he adored his granddaughters. A private memorial will be held in his honor on Saturday, March 8th.

Alan, are you riding your "Bagger" in heaven? Playing pool? We sent Yahoo and Zuni up to play with you.

We miss you.

In memory of my sweet Sadie girl

Today was a difficult day. I had to put down my sweet dog, Sadie. She was a sixteen year old Jack Russell terrier, and for most of her life, she was full of energy. We knew this day was coming; her health had been declining steadily in the last year and worsened over the weekend. I didn't want to see her in pain and I couldn't bear to see her waste away. She stopped barking two years ago, but she still had a full repertoire of vocal sounds. She found a way to communicate with me through little growls and whines. Over the last four days she just looked at me with sad, tired eyes and when I reached out to let her know I was there she simply sighed. Mostly blind and rather deaf, she would howl when I was not in the house. She followed me everywhere and depended on me to lead her where she should go. I think that's what made putting her down so very heartbreaking.


When is it ever easy?


I started missing her the moment she slipped away in my arms.

Conference update

I'm officially registered! I'll be going to Massachusetts in April. I'm so excited!!! I've never been to the northeastern states, and I get to meet one of my long-time online writing buddies for the first time. Way cool!

Deception is coming along very well. I have over 8,000 words on this draft so far. But I'm anxious to get back to Falling as soon as possible. I feel guilty, like I'm cheating on my characters. At the very least, I'm neglecting them. How rude of me, especially considering that those particular characters were productive in December, even though I was not :-)

I've really, really enjoyed the break from routine that the holidays provided. So much so that I'm not ready to go back to the normal routine. I thought about kicking and screaming, but I've never been good at tantrums. My daughter has a science class tomorrow and basketball on Saturday, my son goes back to school on Monday, and my daughter's homeschool classes resume on Monday. Our busy week includes a play at the Seattle Children's Theatre (The Neverending Story), piano lessons, orthodontist appointments, and evening meetings. So it wouldn't matter if I had a tantrum, I'd still be thrust back into Life As Usual.

What that last paragraph leads me to believe (she says with dawning realization) is that I need to take a look at how I spend my time and why I dislike my usual routine so much. Duh.

First blog post of 2008

In between making merry with my friends and family over the past two days, I took down the Christmas decorations, cleaned house, and got busy on The Art of Deception. I also made a few notes on Falling Short which resulted in a minor change that will have a big impact. It's funny how a small change in one character can effect so much. Like looking through binoculars and shifting the view just slightly - a little closer, a little farther away - and suddenly so much more comes into focus. I am excited to be having some "yes!" moments in my writing.

Those of you who are near and dear to me know that I need fistfuls of Starbucks and loads of patience in order to partake in the Great American Pastime known as shopping. I loathe shopping. For myself (when and only when I must do so) I go in with a purpose, grab what I need, and get out. Unless we're talking about a bookstore; then, I can spend hours perusing and it takes superhero-willpower to keep from spending my mortgage payment on the latest releases. My daughter, by some fluke in the gene pool, is a true shopper: she needs to explore every possibility before making a decision. My idea of hell. So yesterday, I had a plan: daughter had a gift card to spend at a store within walking distance of my house. Solution: send her with teenage girl next door, follow along a few minutes later to check on them, and spend the time browsing the aisles of Barnes & Noble! I thanked said teenage girl for having the patience to wait while daughter tried on every article of clothing at Old Navy. It was a win-win situation, especially since I had B&N gift cards to spend.

She spent her gift card, snagging bargains and coming away with a cool sweater, two hip new shirts, and a cozy pair of slippers. I bought only one book: The 2007 Best American Short Stories, edited by Stephen King. And a venti-decaf-nonfat-one pump chocolate-mocha :)

Back home

After a week in Mexico, reality hit before the wheels of the jet touched down at SeaTac. My word count is depressingly low. In order to hit my initial goal of 80,000 words by November 30th, I need to write 6,400 words per day from here on out. (Insert hysterical laughter.)

I think it's time to redefine my goals.

I started the day wondering why I even thought I should write this novel in the first place. I ended it by recalling the fact that I am a writer and I love these characters.

So what if I didn't get any writing done in Mexico? So what if I'm behind on my NaNo word count? Tomorrow I'm going to dive right back in.

Tonight, my nine year old daughter is teaching me how to make a slideshow of my Mexico pics to post on my blog.