About the holidays...

So I was thinking about the holidays last night. Mostly because I've caught some respiratory crud and I'm not getting the things I want to get done, done. I'm two days behind on baking, which has to be done so that cookies can be packed into boxes which must be shipped very soon. But who wants cookies I coughed on?? Also, I barely have the energy to walk to the kitchen, much less stand there and mix cookie dough.

So while I wallowed in my "how the hell am I going to get all this done and I was doing so good" thoughts, I started thinking of holidays past. And trust me, I can out Martha Stewart all the other Martha Stewart wannabes when I set my mind to it, and have in the past. The last two years have been less MS-y because we went to Florida one year (didn't even seem like Christmas to me) and last year I had bronchitis all month. But I was on track for full Martha Stewartdom this year and I was on track for an early finish. Next Saturday is a huge day for me and I can't tell you why yet, but I need to have all or most of my Christmas prep done before then so I can be stress free for the days following. Now, my sister and her family, my folks, and CJ will be with us on Christmas, but we're doing Mexican food for dinner because my sister hates traditional fare, and everyone loves Mexican! I can make the enchiladas up ahead of time and freeze them. And the other stuff is mostly crock pot magic, so the meal won't be a pain. I've got all my Christmas presents bought, paid, and accounted for and a week to wrap them. So as long as I get this baking  done this weekend and packages mailed on Monday, I'm still on schedule.

But the thing that struck me most in my memories is that while I always have a good time on the day of the holiday, visiting with family, munching some awesome food, watching my loved ones open their gifts, my very best memories are the day after the holiday.

I remember distinctly one Friday after Thanksgiving when the kids were probably 5th, 4th, and 3rd grade just hanging out. Eating hot turkey sandwiches (you know, with the mashed potatoes and gravy, and sandwich, and dressing), and watching some show on TLC about carnival sideshows. I remember another day after Christmas when it was just Mike, CJ, and I cleaning up the massive mess that is usually my living room following Christmas day and watching Law & Order: SUV reruns. It struck me that it's those laid back, day after, times that are the most memorable. When the stress is done and everyone is just enjoying the lull following in the wake of the storm. Those quiet times are hard to beat.

So while I wish you a whole happy holiday season, including an awesome Christmas day, I also wish you all a peaceful day or two after, a day to relax, breathe a sigh of relief, enjoy the "pulling off" of your Christmas feats, and a deep appreciation of the quiet times with those you love.

Happy Holidays,
♥Stacey

This is not about writing...

I wanted to be up front about that just in case anyone wandered in looking for author type stuff. This blog is about being an amazing pioneer woman/catch, I mean, canning things. Yep. I can things. So far, mostly jam. But today is salsa day. Yum!

We have a huge area near us that is full of blackberry bushes and we picked tons and tons of blackberries over the month of July. Now, just in case you've never been blackberry picking, and have visions of wandering through a beautiful sunlit meadow with a wicker basket, let me break this down for you. Blackberry picking, while extremely rewarding, basically sucks. You have to put on long sleeves and pants, and I recommend rubber knee boots. Because blackberry bushes have thorns, large ones, that will scratch your skin. And our blackberry bushes grow wild, which means in a jungly tangle, amidst other weeds, and trees. Also, the grass is really tall and there are snakes (hence the rubber boots). Although I only saw one once which is awesome since I froze for a full fifteen minutes afterwards and then had to pep talk myself into continuing in that direction. And it's Illinois in July, so it's hot and humid and sweaty, especially since you are wearing all those damn clothes. And we get so far back in the patch that you can't see us, and we get tangled up in the vines, and bitten by mosquitos, and fight with spiders, anyway, it's not particularly fun. I think it's the sense of accomplishment that keeps us going. (And by "us" I mean myself and my daughter, Molly, when she's home, and my niece, Madi, when she's here; don't even think that Mike is picking berries.)

But as Molly, Madi, and I were discussing once while picking, we all evolved from tribes that basically hunted and gathered. And women were the gatherers. So being good at it, fearless in the face of the heat and (sort of) danger, fulfills some deep need in your evolutionary core. I told Molly that since she's a good gatherer, a good gardener, and births babies easily, she'd be quite a catch in her tribe.

So we picked many times over the month (once in the dusk and rain, talk about difficult and spooky), and gathered a shit ton of blackberries. The boys ate a lot of them. Who knew toddlers could pack away so much fruit? We made some cobblers, some blackberry shortcake, and then I decided to make jam. Now, I'd only made jam once before, in England when I was about 13, with an elderly neighbor lady. We made black currant jam and it was awful. So my knowledge of jam making and canning was almost nil. So I turned to the internet and by toggling between a few sites learned what I needed to know. Then I bought canning supplies. Hello, expensive. But since you only have to buy the pot and tools once, it's worth it. And then I made jam.

First you have to rinse, smash, and cook the berries. Then you spoon it into jars, leaving headspace, getting out air bubbles, putting on lids, and then bathing the jars in a hot water bath. And that's the part that worried me--what if they didn't seal right? What if I gave everyone botulism? But they did, and I didn't, and I heard the satisfying "ping" of lids sealing very clearly. So I made more. I ended up with three batches: Blackberry, Blackberry Cherry, and Blackberry Blueberry. It was delicious. So much so, that I went from this:
 

 

To this:

Way too quickly. I sent some home with my parents. I sent some home with my niece. I sent a jar to Sean. I gave a jar to the neighbors. And then Molly and Luke took 5 jars with them when they left. But, because I'm a nice person, I offered a jar to my mailman yesterday. And it went like this:

 

 

Mailman: (handing over three boxes of books) Here you go.

 

Me: Thanks so much for bringing them to the door.

 

Mailman: No problem.

 

Me: Would you like a jar of homemade jam?

 

Mailman: (Huge sigh) Thanks, but my wife makes jam. She made so much we're trying to get rid of it.

 

 

And he left. What?? But, but, you don't understand. I don't have much left so my offer was not me trying to get rid of it, but me being really generous. It's my first jam making. It needs to be celebrated!! Don't turn down my jam!! But he did. And then he walked back to his jeep. And I felt this odd sense of rejection. Although, if I think about it, he may think I'm slightly odd, and well, I wouldn't take jam from someone I thought was odd either. It's like taking candy from strangers.

 

So, in closing, I've thought a lot about the amazing feeling of accomplishment I got from making and canning homemade jam. Cooking always fills me with a sense of "rightness" and accomplishment. And I think it's because I grew up in a family (and extended family) where that's what women did. We do the cooking, and it's a way of showing love and taking care of your family. And I know that a lot of folks today will think that's old fashioned and silly, but frankly, I don't care. For me, fixing a meal and having everyone at the table will always be my happy place.

 

And learning the art of canning, which I know isn't that big of a deal considering women have been doing it for centuries, and with far less convenience than my modern kitchen, still filled me with a sense of wonder and an amazing satisfaction. And maybe it's because I joined those ranks: I can grow a garden, I can make food, and put it away for later use. I can make sure my family is fed from my own labor. I rock.

 

 

Also, I can make a mess:



And clean it up.

 

 

Today, I'm making and canning salsa with tomatoes and peppers from my garden. Because I can. And also because it's yummy.

 

 

What do you do that gives you that amazing feeling of pride? Seriously, I want to know!

 

 



♥Stacey

Submission Sundays or What Jealousy Taught Me

So this post is "authorly" in nature, in that I am an author and I'm going to talk about writing, but it's also a post for people in general. I want to talk about something we all are either recipients of or are guilty of. What's that, you ask? JEALOUSY. I'm no stranger to the green eyed monster and I bet you aren't either.

Recently, I was made aware that some people didn't like me. WHAT?! Was my first response. And by "what" I meant "what is wrong with those people?" Because I'm always taken aback when I find out people don't like me. Unless it's someone I don't like and I've given them good reason not to like me, that's a different story. But coming from people I mostly like and hadn't done anything to, it was a shock. Then, the more we talked about it, we came to the realization that it wasn't so much dislike (well, it still might be, but not for these reasons) as jealousy. People were jealous of me. Now, I'm sure that what you're supposed to feel, what most people feel, when they find out someone is jealous of them is pride. I'm so good that people are jealous. Right? But that's not what I felt. I felt angry. Angry because it felt like their jealousy undermined my hard work. No good fortune fairy came down and tapped Mike & I on the head. Everything we have, his job, my job, a nice house, great kids, great relationships with those kids, the trips we take, everything, we worked our asses off for or went through hell for. And it felt like these people were saying we didn't deserve them, we just got lucky. And I call bullshit.

But the truth is, you never truly know anything about anyone else's life unless you live it. Those people couldn't know that I'm constantly stressed about whether my oldest son, who has autism, is happy at his group home. Is he being treated fairly, does he like the people who work there, does he miss me too much? They couldn't know how stressed I am about my youngest leaving home and how he'll never be the same person again. I will never know him as well as I do at this exact moment, because leaving home changes you. They couldn't know that I still miss my Grandma on a daily basis and how much I miss being able to share every success with the person who believed in me the most. They can't know how much my sister and I worry about our parents increasing age and declining health. Or the daily frustration of living with someone who has no short term memory. Or any of the million other things that everyone deals with on a daily basis. They didn't really know me. All they saw is what we present to the outside world. And as much as I try to be genuine and an open book in all of my interpersonal communications, I don't often share bad stuff. Mostly because I figure everyone has their own, why bring them down with mine. And truly, most of the time I choose not to dwell on mine; Mike and I adopted a policy very early on, right after CJ's diagnosis in fact, of "well, this happened, let's deal with it and move on." So I am a happy person most of the time. But it's by choice, not luck.

And because of this episode I started thinking about my own petty jealousies. Most of them work related. Such and such press signed author X. Why didn't they sub to us? So and so sold yet another story for pro rates. Why didn't I? Why aren't I having all these acceptances? So I took my own ponderings to heart and realized I have no idea what is going on in other's lives. They got those things because they worked hard for them. And if I want them? Well, I better get my ass in gear and start working harder.

A wise woman once told me  I can't measure my success by the success of others because success is personal. There's no one definition that applies across the board. And what I realized was the reason I wasn't having success was because I wasn't putting in the time and effort. If I want author X then I need to do something to put the press on their radar. And if I want an acceptance letter with a pro rate sale, well I'd better start finishing my stories/novellas/novels and submitting them. Because the truth is I bust my ass for the press, but I'm a lazy writer. I let myself get distracted, I procrastinate, I find 15 other things I "should" be doing. And that's my bad. I know what I need to do. And so, I started last week. Last weekend I sent in three submissions. I already had two out, so that's five. Four original stories and one reprint. So far, I've heard nothing back. Two I think have a real chance. The other three are a gamble. But if they come back with a rejection notice, I will research some more markets and get them out again, because that's what it takes. And from now on, I will finish one new story per month and send it out too, until I have so many subs out that the law of averages takes effect. Something has to sell, right? I mean, I have sold stories before.

So the moral of this story is I took something unpleasant and turned it around by choice. And every time you do that, the Universe smiles for like 3.5 seconds. I mean, c'mon, it's a busy Universe and you really aren't that important. But maybe it helps to bolster hope for the human race. And for you writerly types who are still with me? The lesson is: success comes with backbreaking (or mind bending in this case) labor. Not good luck, not fairies or wishing wells, but your own sweat and tears. You have to put the work in to reap the rewards. And will we all make it? No. I mean some people just aren't ready, or talented enough, or even interesting. But no one is going to make it if they don't try, if they don't keep trying. And the more you write, the more you read other's writing, the more you work on your craft, the better you get. And the better you get, the better your chances of acceptance. It's a circle of win.

So I'm starting "Submission Sundays." Every Sunday I will evaluate my submissions. The ones sent back rejected, will be looked at, tweaked, and sent somewhere else. New stories will get the same treatment. I want to have at least five and possibly ten subs out at all times. This Sunday, I have a "pass" since they are all still out and I didn't get anything new written or finished this week. But I'm looking for some of you writers out there to join me. I might even make a Facebook group. Because I do better when held accountable to others. And so do some of you. And some of you are good all on your own, but might enjoy kicking other's in the pants. C'mon, it'll be fun.

And stop being jealous. Shake it off, look around, and appreciate your own blessings. You might not want the other person's bad times or dues they paid to get those good things.

♥Stacey

Make that Author and Editor

The more hats, the merrier? Right? Hmmm...maybe I got that saying a little confused. Regardless, I'm very happy to announce that I took a position as Editor at Angelic Knight Press. They did a nifty write up about it if you want to stop by and read it. (hint, hint)

I'm very excited about my new role. The writers there are very talented people who are committed to professionalism and putting out the best books they can. I'm proud to be a part of that. I will, of course, continue my own writing and hopefully learn as much as I can from them. I think that editing really helps my own writing. Reading helps it and picking up flaws in other's writing helps me recognize them in my own. Its a win/win.

I happen to be a tad paranoid though. After the rough couple of years we've had...my health issues, Mike's accident, Molly's blood disorder, it's hard to believe that things are turning around and looking up. My sister says its payback for all the crap last year. Whatever it is, we're going to make the most of it.

I firmly believe that things happen for a reason. And we've tried to learn from each and every speed bump. When I had to leave my job for health reasons, I looked around for things I could do from home. Which led to blogging, which led to free lancing, which led to meeting new people, which led to conventions, which led to meeting the right people at the right time. It also gave me more time to work on my fiction.

Molly's blood disorder forced her to act more responsibly. Harsh lessons for a young adult, but well learned. Her surgery to remove her spleen resulted in a remission. So while Dylan wasn't planned, it was definitely the best time for a happy accident.

And Mike's accident reminded us of how much we love each other. And everyday we use it as a reminder not to take each other for granted. Its resulted in a better relationship for him and the kids too. And it reminds us that life is too short to sweat the small stuff. And unless someone is dying, its all small stuff.

Mike's job is changing and he'll be taking on more responsibility. This also means spending more time working (I don't know when he'll sleep). But of course it was discussed at the dinner table before any decisions were made. And really, what kind of person holds someone back? Not us.

I told him how funny it was that we are both finally doing our "dream jobs". And probably this means the whole "rapture" thing is true. But I sure hope not. I'd like to be an Editor for at least a week before the world ends.

♥Spot