I went and I learned and its do now or die.

There you have it, not exactly panic on the doorstep of success—more like I need to take the next step already. I’m tired of endless rounds of critiques and editing.  Taking even more poetic license—this is it—time to submit. My blogs have been sparse because I’ve been busy writing, snatching every second I can between family time, the usual business and unusual business, dealing with disasters.

I’ve revised my query about a hundred times.  My synopsis is so sync-copied I can’t see straight.  I worked two classes of 7th graders’ fingers to the bone to polish my book. Okay, that’s an exaggeration because I brought treats, gave prizes for the most helpful suggestions, and we had fun. But school ended and I finished entering the students’ suggestions within a month. Then I made another round of adult critiques, and another few rounds of my own. Since I’m my own worst critic, I put a time limit on that or I’d never submit anything. The time limit was SCBWI’s Orlando workshop.

I went to the middle-grade track and enjoyed the success stories and especially the humor, but I went for the lessons. I got those in enough detail to push me forward, through that last leg of synopsis and query editing. So between family business and church stuff, getting choir ready for another performance, I’m going to set out Query Shark bait. That’s how open to criticism I am. Chew me up and spit me out, just leave a few pieces, please.

I’m also taking a few days to regain my calm and feed my spirit with a relative visit.  Even a working vacation does wonders when it's to see loved ones. Back home I’ll start researching my first round of 10 agents to query.

I might have to delay another week while I deal with backed up laundry and finances—I can’t stand dirty laundry piled up or receipts not entered in Quicken either. But I hope to have the dirty business under control soon, along with the long awaited launching of one of my children from the nest.

Fly! I won’t cry—much. Maybe I’ll even take over the space for an office.

Afterwards, all other business must take a number and stand in line, because I'll be researching agents and reading their submission guidelines. Last but not least, I’ll send, send, send, because I hear there’s no end to rejections.

 The subject isn’t setting clocks, but moving forward, in time.

Sometimes I wonder if I have a sign on my back saying, “Kick Me!” Parents know that sign comes with children. The older they get, the worse it gets. But anyone who does their own taxes and has their own business or rental gets another “Kick me” sign from the IRS. Add more signs for disasters at home, appliances breaking, roofs leaking, etcetera. We had both last month. And an unexpected family emergency that kept us home from a church youth trip. Might as well plaster those signs on our windows.

Through all this stuff, did I ask myself what I did to deserve it? Not much. Without explanation, that might seem like a fatalistic point of view. So here goes. It’s too late to change the past. Once I decide if I made a mistake that I can correct in the future, i.e. by repenting, apologizing, or taking different actions, further thinking back is backwards thinking, a waste of time. If I did something wrong, my time is better spent dealing with the problem in time, as in now. If I didn’t do something wrong, springing forward is still the only way to get over a setback.

I know I taught my children right from wrong at an early age and repeated it often enough. But parents can’t make all their children’s choices for them. At my age, I still haven’t got it down. Even if most of my bad choices relate to forgetting something, I can’t expect my kids to make perfect choices. Sleepless nights aside, I’m happy for any sign of improvement. And some of my children are managing their lives well enough that I know I did something right, sometime.

As for taxes, the government officials who create the tax code prefer we hate spending time doing taxes enough to skip deductions. That way they get to keep more of our money. The whole system is geared in their favor, like slot machines. The odds are against people having enough patience or time or knowledge to keep the required records and then plow through all the paperwork necessary to keep every penny they’re entitled to. I just grit my teeth, harness my husband to the plow long enough to account for his own spending, and get it done.

It’s a waste of time asking if I deserve a leaky roof and a broken fridge because there’s a law written somewhere—it never rains but it pours. Anyway, that rain helped our loquats grow into a bumper crop, never mind that we’ll have to give most of it away because of the broken fridge and lack of time for canning. At least I have a fridge with food in it—and a roof.

I spoke of adversity last week to the 7th grade class reviewing my book. At their young ages, 12 through 14, they weren’t sure what adversity meant. I told them some people see their troubles and trials as opportunities rather than adversities, but not always while they’re happening. I wonder if one day a trial will make me smile and say, “Open the door. Opportunity knocks.”

I’m walking to open the door, if not springing forward to open it. During all my recent trials, I kept writing. Sure, it was a half-hour to an hour at a time, but I wrote. In fiction, problems drive the plot. And due to my own trials over the last month, I found ways to make my character’s problems worse. The 7th graders suggested more ways. According to one reviewer in the other class that recently began reading, my book’s beginning is “way better”. Knock-knock!

This entry disappeared off my website. I’m not sure how, but it did. And since I didn’t pre-write it elsewhere, I’m glad I can redo my blogging easier than some other areas of life.

I’ve been digging for gold this year. Not on the beach or in the water, but in a class of young teenagers, ages twelve through fourteen. I’ve met with them on an almost weekly basis since January as they reviewed my book, helping me eliminate any confusion, punch up the action, etc. I aim to tune to their middle-grade frequencies like my husband’s metal detector tunes in to the gold left on our beaches by vacationers. But I’m finding more gold.

I don’t have to dig as much as I have to aim for the sky and shoot the best words I can. If I hit the right target, the interest zone of these students’ hearts and minds, they smile big enough for me to see their gold fillings—and braces. Okay, so I don’t check my adorable (don’t tell the boys I said that) gift horses’ mouths for gold. Their opinions are the gold I seek.  

It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t give something in return. I know life isn’t supposed to be fair, but I try to live by the golden rule. I didn’t walk into the class before Christmas vacation for the first time without an idea of giving them at least as much, preferably more than they gave me.

I wanted to instill in them the same love of reading I found at age nine when I discovered the Lord of the Rings. When the ring wraiths rode by, I hid under my bed while the hobbits hid under a ditch bank. Then at school I discovered I Robot. Tolkien and Asimov started me on a journey I’ve never regretted, except when I didn’t have time to read.

About five years ago, I made another golden discovery—I can read and walk at the same time! Better than walking and chewing gum any day. About the same time, I realized I wanted to write for young teenagers. Since then, I’ve read more middle-grade fiction than anything else.

For my golden boys and girls, I want to do more than help them love reading. I want them to learn to love writing. So we’ve discussed how to get and develop story ideas. I put in a request to Emerald Coast Writers for a student writing contest, and they agreed. Now I hope to turn this coast from emerald to gold. If a love of reading isn’t enough to enrich these young teenagers’ lives, there’s no limit to the treasure they can add with a love of writing.

In a perfect world, when I opened the door to opportunity I wouldn't find trouble waiting on my doorstep. I would have plenty of time to write and my book would be a best seller. I would exercise enough to get rid of my muffin top and physical pains would all disappear. I would be a perfect wife and mother, a great choir director and teacher, a benevolent philanthropist, etc.

In reality, I struggle every day. There's not enough time. Besides that, trouble doesn't wait until I open the door. It comes through the phone, through TV, through the internet, and through family members and pets already inside my home. There's no avoiding trouble, so I might as well face it and fight.

Except, I never know when it's coming, or how. Will it knock or barge in, ring or leave a message? Or will I step in it? Some days I walk wary of an obstacle that might fly up like a rake to smack me in the face. The worst days, I step out of bed and into a mess before I'm fully awake. Other days I go on my merry way and nothing hits, rings, or knocks. So, should I expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised if it doesn't happen? Works for me, except when I forget.

Forgetfulness isn't my only problem. Sometimes it's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other without tripping on my own shoelaces. Yup, I'm awkward. Sometimes when I do step forward, everything crashes down on top of me. It couldn't be me who over-obligated my time, could it? Then other times, I step backwards or around to avoid the obstacles ahead. No fear there. Yeah, right.

But I do take steps, somewhere. Like now, blogging because my brain overloaded on router restriction instructions. I never wanted to know that stuff, but I have children who know all the dangerous shortcuts. It's my job to keep them out of trouble until they learn to walk on their own two feet instead of stepping on mine and their father's. And every time I think they've learned to walk in the light, some new dark path opens up at their feet. So here I go, putting up new roadblocks and trying to blaze safer trails. One step at a time, I keep on going.

In life, if you stop moving, you lose. If you sit on a fence you're stuck, so climb over, walk around, dig under or knock it down. Find a walking partner or two to help you past the worst obstacles. My most frequent helpers are God and my husband. Some might say one or both are crutches used by the weak-minded. I don't care, as long as they support my fallen arches and weak knees.

When I fall, they pick me up; when I stray, they try bring me back. And sooner or later, with their help, I'll get to where I want to go. Because my goal in life isn't just avoiding trouble along the way, it's overcoming trouble, growing stronger with each victory, until at the end, when I meet my maker, I can say, "I'm home, thanks to your help."

One final note. My writer's blog focuses less on the writing process itself than on balancing other aspects of life with writing. So if that doesn't seem like a good writer's blog, this isn't the one for you. If it does, I think you're headed in the right direction, and I welcome good companions.

No, not until Christmas. I mean, who's counting the days in general? Me.

But I keep losing track. I'm guilty of letting all those 24-hour days get away for weeks on end. I couldn't find enough time to write in my blog. I couldn't find time to take a walk. Uh-huh. If you believe I didn't waste a second of precious time, can I sell you a nice island called Manhattan?

Of course, the time was there, none missing. I can't account for all of it, yet I know I used it all. At home, I took pictures and posted items for sale on Craiglist and even sold a few things. I had a garage sale and sold a few more things. After another garage sale, it'll be time to inventory and donate. But the stuff will come back. The time won't.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living on borrowed time. With Thanksgiving coming up and the house in a terrible mess, I turned off the internet while I cleaned. That got my sons moving, cleaning up their own rooms, at least. But everything I personally put away has since migrated back out; there's clutter everywhere. All that laundry I cleaned is dirty again. Nothing stays clean for long, but the time is long gone.

Where else did the time go? Running errands, picking up a son from school and hauling both of us to doctor and/or dentist appointments. Going to the bank or grocery shopping. Yes, I made a few nice dinners for guests and family, including Thanksgiving. We were stuffed and the fridge is still stuffed.

Where else did my hours go? I visited family across the country, well worth the time. I think the raccoons got back about the same time I did. We caught one last night, a slow walker, maybe sick. Now it's home on the range, Eglin that is. But I expect even a slow walker will return here given a few weeks, quicker if we don't catch its companion so they can spend some quality time together, learning to forage in the woods. I'm open to other ideas to keep them away that don't involve killing or hurting them. Now killing time would be fun, if I had some to kill. I don't.

I do crunch time a lot, working on finances, fixing broken internet, paying bills. I spend more pleasant hours with church choir, practicing and performing -- often without a pianist. Another big chunk of time goes to Boy Scouts. I enter data, send emails, go to meetings. And I prepare and teach church lessons. Then I read a slew of business and personal emails, usually piled up for days. In the end, crunched or killed, the time is gone, all passed into the past.

Last week I studied the Black Friday newspaper ads, went shopping, and studied the ads again. Being thrifty isn't just a Boy Scout law, it's necessary for our financial health. But finding the best quality for the lowest price consumes lots of time.

With the little time left in the past month, I took far too few walks outdoors for good physical health. My vitamin D level is too low to build my bones. My spiritual health suffered too, because I fell behind on scripture reading. Interruptions got me before I could walk out the door. I've got to start ignoring the phone and the "what are your plans today?" questions that involve me doing something extra, guaranteed to prevent my taking a walk.

To anyone else, being told to take a walk is an insult. Say it to me and I'll smile -- and take a walk. I'll be happy to comply because I figured out how to insert another piece in the time puzzle. Really. I can walk and solve a sodoku just as easy as I can walk and read. So now I have a new way to dovetail fun with exercise.

But if you really want to make me happy, find a way to add a couple extra hours to the day. In a month dedicated to writing an entire novel for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) participants, I spent 10 hours writing, tops. Sometime, there must be more time to write. Maybe I'll find it tomorrow. Or the next day, because there's a huge pile of mail on my desk, still waiting. And speaking of waiting, let's face it, my writing won't pay the bills until I sell a book. It'll have to wait. But sometimes I can hardly stand the waiting.