Chicken Soup for the Soul: Raising Kids on the Spectrum

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that my kids are my world. They’re everything to me. When I was asked as a child what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, “A mom.”  Like most things in the world, those idealized plans we have as children aren't as simple or as care-free as we think.

It started with the miscarriages, I miscarried over and over. At some points, I was on birth control just because we couldn't handle the stress of it as a couple.

 So, when I finally got pregnant and stayed pregnant, it seemed like the tough times were over…and then I threw up every day of the pregnancy and started having contractions at 28 weeks. With bedrest, I made it to 37 weeks and then…then it would be easy and like what you read in the books.

B was born with an air pocket in her lung and a collapsed lung. They were able to resolve it in the NICU in a few days, and we took her home.

 But, then, it was going to be easy, right? I’d be able to find my answers in all those books I had. I’d be that mom I wanted to be when I was a kid. 

B had so many weird little allergic type reactions and she was sick–all the time–she was sick over two dozen times in the first two years of her life. But then she started talking when I was pregnant with T, and it felt like I was finally fitting on the pages of my parenting books…and then she stopped talking and the words just disappeared. They slipped away and other milestones followed.

 I was given a baby scrapbook at one of my baby showers, and I didn't know what to do with it. One of her sicknesses reverted her back to crawling again. Her first words were gone. She seemed not to care who I was or if I was in the room. She never pointed–she would just shove our hands at what she wanted. There was never any eye contact. She wouldn't react when we called her name. One of the scariest things was that her response to pain was nonexistent at times.

 We were living outside the parenting books…reading them just made me cry.

 A month after T was born, I convinced my husband we should see the doctor about her hearing–but it was more than that–I knew it was more than that. On March 8th of 2003, the doctor told us he thought she had regressive Autism. It changed everything. It hurt, and it helped. Nothing was the same, but everything made sense. It felt like the start of a different life…and it was.

 Later, my son was diagnosed with Asperger’s and both kids got secondary diagnoses of Sensory Integration Dysfunction.

 Thanks to therapists, doctors, diets, teachers, interventions, family–and a whole lot of work from us and from the kids, my kids are both extremely high-functioning and mainstreamed in school. Most people will never know they were once diagnosed with things that ripped our hearts out.

 B loves math and likes to Skype with friends about Minecraft. She’s sweet, beautiful, and laughs at corny jokes. She has a friend who refers to B as “her best friend.”

 T has been reading at a 12th grade reading level since 3rd grade–likes to know everything about everything, and he, too, is obsessed with Minecraft. He’s charming and treats our furniture like a jungle gym. He is the most literal child you’ll ever meet and half of his sentences are the word “Dude.”

 Ultimately, our story is a story of hope. After the crying and the loss and the confusion, we got up and got to work. My parenting experience has never been in the standard books. We celebrated when B relearned words and could put her feet in sand. We celebrated when T stopped wearing earphones and gloves.

 I’m not at all the mom I thought I’d be as a kid. I’m the mom who learned home therapy and married the dad who built a therapy room for his kids.  I’m the mom who cooked gluten-free and dairy-free for four years. My husband is the dad who once stayed in a job he didn't always like because the medical benefits for therapy were good. I’m the mom who jumped at the chance to write something for a book about being a mom to kids on the spectrum. I’m the mom who bawled while reading through journals and through every revision.

 When I heard that my story “When Ladybugs Roar” had been chosen as a finalist–I felt everything I’d always wanted to feel as both a writer and a mom.  I've never been so proud of being a writer and a mom. So, I'm that mom…and my story is found in the section of the book under the category of “Hope and Expectations."

The Prodigal Blog Owner Returns

I know. I know. It's terrible.

I didn't post a single update in February...which, ironically, is because there was so much to update on but there was also loads and loads of stress.

There was my son's birthday--which was a blast. We went to the Museum of Glass in Tacoma and they gave him a super awesome dragon goblet in recognition of him coming on his birthday. Then, we went to Journey 2, and then finally went to Chuck E. Cheese. We sucked the fun out of that day. The kids were all exhausted by the time we got back.

Then, just before Valentine's Day, my husband left for a business trip to Singapore and was gone for a week and a half. My son went bonkers without my husband here.  It was sooooo stressful.  Then, the husband came home and he and T rushed to get T's special school project on electricity done.  Then, my parents visited and we went to Great Wolf Lodge and played at the indoor waterpark for several days. Finally, we got back in time for T's Pinewood Derby.

But wait... that's not all... I also submitted to three different submission calls during February and the last few weeks.  I also signed a contract for a novella, but I'm not sure when I'm allowed to announce.

Also, on a less fun level, I had a migraine for two weeks straight which I ended up kicking by getting a massage.

February and March haven't been fun times.  I'm now on week 2 of insomnia.

I keep hoping March will go a little easier on me than February but... it just hasn't.  I feel like every day I start out behind. I just can't seem to keep up.

Anyway, I'm going to try to be better about updating.  I'm not sure how much I'll have to say, though. I'm sort of burnt out on life right now.  I feel a little adrift actually.  Every so often I remember that I never sent out my Christmas cards... not even late... that's how each day feels--like I've fallen a hundred projects behind.

On February 9th, we were talking to my son about being tested and getting the official diagnosis of Aspergers before it's dropped as a diagnosis. (The governing board over the diagnostic codes has decided to get rid of several diagnoses including Aspergers.)  T said that it won't change whether or not he has it so there's no point to it.  Then, B asked if she has Aspergers too.  It might seem unreal but we'd never had that talk with her.  We've spoken of Autism when she was around and we've never tried to hide it.  I mean we ate, drank, slept Autism until she turned seven.  I don't think I can convey how fragile a conversation that feels---the conversation where you tell your daughter she has Autism and discuss what that means.

While T identifies as an Aspie and is proud of it... we warned B that there are stigmas attached to the word Autism. We asked if she wanted people to know that she has it or not and she doesn't really want the label attached to her anymore. B doesn't like to stand out.  She doesn't like a lot of attention.  So, I've changed my bio and so on to reflect that.

I don't think you can understand this weird new world I'm in unless you've been there. I identify as a parent of an Autistic child. I mentor others on raising children with Autism.  I hold nothing back. That's who I am. For years I was so obsessed with it--that's all of what I was.  I was running on adrenalin.  It's weird to now think that I'll need to step back and not say, "I'm the mother of two Autistic children" to people I meet.  Who am I if I'm not that person?

I guess it's not so strange to redefine yourself as you pass on to a different stage of your life, but this just took me by surprise.  On the one hand, I'm excited that B is so high-functioning that we don't NEED to tell people anymore.  On the other hand, that was my goal, my focus, for nearly a decade.  On March 8th of 2003, we first were told she most likely had Autism.  Our lives changed forever.  Now, on February 9th of 2012, it changed again. This time it was her choice.

When I went in to get the massage, I listed "writer" as my occupation. It was the first time I've focused on who I am outside of my kids on forms like that.  Normally, I explain the stress and migraines as being related to OCD and raising two Autistic children.  This time, I didn't.

It's a weird world I'm entering in.  I'm just not sure what to think of a world where I talk about me... where I'm defined by my own success and not all the work and intervention I've done with the kids.  It's... frightening.

In other writing-related news, I've now been repped by Sarah for a year.  Cool, huh?

OCD. It's what's for dinner... and breakfast... and snacks...

I've mentioned this the last few days on Twitter, but my OCD lately has been really bad.  Really bad.  If you've come in the line of fire from my very pleasant personality these last few weeks, I apologize.  If I've offended you, I'm sorry.  By nature, I try never to offend or hurt anyone.  I didn't mean it.  My intention is never to hurt anyone.  Ever.  I feel out of control--like I'm on a roller coaster holding on to the outside of the coaster and hanging on for dear life.  I can't seem to dig in and get a handle on it.

Typically, my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is vexed by a few different triggers.  Hormones is a big one--one that I can't seem to work around right now, though I've tried various things when I was medicated.  Estrogen patches were nice to regulate it, but they gave me nightmares--fairly horrific nightmares actually.  Since I'm not currently seeing my doctor, even that isn't an option. I'm trying vitamins to control my hormones, but they're a piss-poor substitute for actual control.

Stress is another trigger.  Another thing I can't really seem to help with.  The funny thing about stress is that as my OCD escalates, it too becomes a stressor... so it cycles back to this never-ending push towards worse days.  Clearly, we're just through the holidays so stress is almost expected.  We had a lot of sickness over the holidays, though... the puking kind... and germs and body fluids are not my friend.  I have "contamination" issues as my strongest OCD symptom.

I was at a church thing on Wednesday and one of my friends (who would be the polar opposite of me for mental health issues) said, "Just so you know, my daughter had strep and impetigo on Sunday, but she's just finished 24 hours of meds, so she's no longer contagious." My skin wouldn't stop itching from pretend contamination.  I always err on the side of extreme and total caution when it comes to germs... far past what is reasonable.  So, germs or the possibility of germs... always get to me.  That same friend also licked her right index finger while dishing out ice cream and I said, "Did you know you just licked your finger?"  She said, "Yes, but it won't come into contact with the food."  I continued to stare at her finger... and stare... and stare... until I moved down the line because I couldn't handle it anymore.  She has no issues with contamination.  I have severe issues--and that's on me.  I have to remind myself she is the normal one.

Another trigger is poor sleeping--which is both a symptom and a trigger.  Over the holidays, I got nailed with some really intense insomnia.  Most times, I didn't get to sleep before 3 a.m. despite hours of trying.  One night, I saw the hairy side of 5 a.m.  It was miserable.  I'm lying there, thinking of everything and trying to think of nothing... and I just can't sleep.  I even took one of my sleeping pills that should have knocked out an elephant. It didn't work at all. The insomnia jag finally broke a couple days ago.

Insomnia often leads to depression for me--a deep-rooted depression that is more about chemicals inside my brain.  It's an illusion of depression.  I feel hopeless and despondent as if I'll never catch up and never be okay, but it's chemicals and smoke and mirrors.  It's not real. It sucks to be depressed without reason and to know you can't fix it. The depression becomes a stressor also--I hate irony.

Diet and exercise are good ways to control it, but they can only do so much... and when my asthma is acting up or I'm injured, exercise won't help.  Poor health is a trigger.  Sickness, not exercising, and eating crappy--all come back to bite me.

Okay, so those are some of the main reasons my OCD is bad.

Some of the symptoms you might not realize are symptoms:

I binge on things and collect things.  If I take up a hobby, I have to have everything I could possibly need for that hobby.  Scrapbooking, beading, and painting have all been binge hobbies where I have more than I'd ever need for those.  This last bout, it was holiday-themed books, stories, and anthologies.  I have read more Christmas-themed stories in the last three weeks than probably all my followers combined.  I had to have access to all of them.  I read them with an obsessive drive that was terrifying.  Some days, I'd read three novels--just to quiet the need.

Avoidance.  My husband was home and drove nearly everywhere we went.  I've always hated driving, but my destinations are limited during an OCD bout to destinations where I know where I'll be parking.  I have to know where I'll be parking in order to even go there in the first place.  Also, I'm afraid to drive cars that aren't running perfectly... which has been a difficult job for my husband this year.  Our cars are getting older--and he's been kept on his toes trying to keep them running.  He's brilliant but we've had a limited budget for car upkeep.  At least we went places over the holidays because my husband is as sane as I am insane.  He drove and I sat clutching the armrest and hoping we didn't die in a fiery wreck or be unable to find a parking spot--which are on the same level for me.

Avoidance goes deeper than you'd guess.  If I've bought your book or you've recommended a book to me--I haven't read it.  I can tell you that right now.  I want to.  I want to read it with all my heart.  It's in a category in my Kindle that says "Books I'm Anxious To Read" but the anxiety involved is stronger than my will.  I'm absolutely paralyzed by the worry that I might not like it, and I might have to tell you something less than the truth.  It's the reason why I read my book club books the day of the book club--I have a paralyzing phobia of not liking a recommended book.  I'm an obsessively honest person, and the thought of lying is horribly repugnant to me.  I'm really trying to overcome this.  I want to overcome this.  But, right now, it's stronger than I am.  I'm sorry.  I'll continue to buy books of friends and continue to ask for recommendations, but it's not something going easily into that good night.  I'm trying.  That's the best I can give you right now.

Then, there are some of the obvious symptoms.  I'm wearing non-latex disposable gloves to do some things.  I'm washing my hands so frequently that my knuckles are cracking.  I want to stay inside my house and never leave because the world is a scary ugly place full of contamination.  I'm triple checking everything--locks, the oven being off, the signature on checks, the innards of envelopes, anything I've written for transposing errors, etc.  These are the things you expect of OCD, though.

I'm sorry my OCD is making me be a bad friend, an impatient person... it's even making me into a lousy mother and wife.  I'm trying.  If nothing else, believe I'm obsessing about doing better and being less of a hot mess of dysfunction.  I'm trying more than I'm coping.  I'm trying more than I'm giving up.  I'm really trying.

I have severe OCD.  It's not just bad.  It's not just complex.  It's severe, and it's clinical, and it doesn't take vacations.  I should be medicated again.  I just can't seem to bring myself to start throwing money at it--and me being medicated is expensive... and there are side effects beyond the financial drain that I've mentioned before.  The physical side effects are such that I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy... not that I have an enemy who comes to mind.  I wouldn't wish the side effects on anyone, though.

Okay, this was a novel.  If you made it through, thank you.  If you didn't, dude, there's no shame.  LOL.  This was far too long.  I just wanted to explain why I am the way I am.

If you ever have any questions about OCD, I'm obviously very open about it.  I haven't always been, but I am now.  My daughter has OCD and it's not a dirty secret.  It can't be.  I refuse to let my daughter grow up thinking she has to hide the symptoms and seek unhealthy outlets to cope.  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a mental illness, though, and it's pervasive and vicious.  It creeps into everything I do.  It's like a liquid... it fills up the spaces I leave for it.  Right now, there are a lot of spaces in my life for it to crawl into it.

Starting a new year freed me up a bit, though.  I can consign all of last year's worries and awful situations to a number--2011.  I can say, "That was a bad year," and move on.  2012 isn't going great at this point.  My daughter's favorite teacher and my favorite teacher at the school--apparently has cancer.  I'm struggling to keep personal relationships from feeling the strain I'm under.  My kids are both struggling either quietly or violently with issues related to their Autism or sensory issues.  2012 is not the beautiful new day I'd love for it to be.  It's a new number.  Still, it is new and that's something.

Thanks for listening.

Goals Revisited

So, it seems appropriate for the last day of the year to look back at my goals and see where I got.  Mostly, I've decided not to have goals anymore because goals are a big freaking pain. At some point, I added submit one short story per month, but it's not showing up on here... huh. 

Here are my goals from this year (I made them in March, so that's how I could cheat and add the agent thing) : 

Writing Plans for 2011:

January:

Finish Honor 7. (Completed) 

Revise Secrets of Skin and Stone. (Completed) 

Submit short stories. (Completed--both stories were accepted in the anthologies I submitted them to.  Mystery Times Ten 2011 and Undead is Not an Option.) 

February:

Get agent. (Wooo wahoo!) (Yay)

March:

Do revisions of Secrets of Skin and Stone. (Completed a set of revisions)

Work on short story project. (I probably did.) 

April:

Finish Sentinel's Run. (At some point during the year I finished Sentinel's Run.)

May:

Revision of Curse Me A Story for Sarah. (I did... but it's not quite done.) 

"Six month" scheduled revision of Versus the Bounty and The Unseen Kingdom. (Nope.)

June:

Finish My Other Life. (Nope.) (I wrote Promises of Light and Dark instead.)

July:

Finish Chosen Changeling. (Nope.)

August:

Revise Honor Series. (Crap. No.)

September:

Work on short stories or Honor 8. (Short stories... done.)

October:

Revise Scorched. (Crap. No.)

Revise Good Girls Don't Date Mutants. (I started a revision on Mutants but I haven't completed it.)

November:

NaNoWriMo novel (Completed 50K. I did five novellas instead of a novel.)

December:

Revise Sentinel's Run and begin Sentinel's Run Book Two. (Uhh. No. I did manage to submit 11 short stories during 2011.) 

I'm still working on a revision of Secrets of Skin and Stone... well, I'm waiting on Sarah with that.  I've revised it three or four or five times this year.  

Per my earlier announcement I did get a short story picked up by Entangled Publishing. 

I did actually finish writing my entry for Mystery Times Ten for 2012, but I need to do another revision on it. I could have probably powered through it and subbed it tonight, but I like eleven better than twelve anyway, so there wasn't a lot of incentive.

I fell behind in some ways this year and made some progress in others.  I read around 89 books, did five betas, and I did quite a few requested revisions for editors and for Sarah.

Outside of writing, I lost fifty lbs this year--so that's pretty cool.  

Then, there were parenting struggles and sickness and injury.  It hasn't been all fun and games.  

Next year... okay, I do have some goals.

Goals for 2012

I want to do more reviewing. I'm hoping to review all my favorite books on Amazon--just my favorite books--and just on Amazon. 

I want to lose the last fifteen lbs. to my goal. 

I want to finish revising Secrets of Skin and Stone for the last time with Sarah.

I intend to submit to Mystery Times Ten Contest by its deadline of January 31st. 

I have some short stories to revise for editors, and I'll do that.

My only specific writing goals are that I want to revise and resubmit Honor.  I want to finish my revision of Mutants.  Also, I want to do NaNoWriMo again this year. That's about it. 

In social media goals, I want to work a little harder on keeping up on my blog and creating an author website.  It's been a tough year, and I keep feeling like I'm dropping behind--in fact, I need to write a few blog posts and retro-post them in regards to Christmas and the nativity display. (I did take a bunch of pictures, and I'll post them--soon.)  I can't seem to keep up.  B got the stomach flu for Christmas and my son had it before her.  It's been... fun. 

Anyway, that's it. I hope everyone is having a good New Year's Eve.  See you next year. ; ) 

November--the Long and Short of it

It's crazy to think that it's been a month since I posted.  I actually started drafting a post at the beginning of the month, and I just couldn't really get into it.  Tonight, I'm so exhausted that when I was reading to the kids right now, I was stumbling over my words, but it seemed wrong not to post at all in November.

I mentioned before the month started that I was working on short story submissions.  I submitted a superhero novella that wasn't picked up for the anthology but they've asked to consider it for another line of novellas.  I also submitted a bunch of other short stories and novellas... and I hope to have news to announce about those soon.

My goal for this year was to submit 12 short stories by the end of the year.  It's nearly December, and I've submitted 9.  I plan to enter the Mystery Times Ten contest by December 31st, so that leaves 2 more submissions.

I also completed NaNoWriMo this month.  The novel I'd planned kept getting pushed back in favor of short story revision and submission and, in the end, my muse refused to cooperate and work on a YA horror story. Instead, I did five novellas that were holiday/season-centric.  It was fun.  I completed my 50K on 11/11/11.

I'm finishing the month of November with some really long days working on some silhouette murals for the nativity collection display at our church.  I've done similar murals in the past, but this year in addition to the "Jerusalem" skyline they asked for wisemen, shepherds, camels, sheep, and then trees of various types.  So, I've spent hour upon hour since Monday sketching and cutting and putting up the silhouettes.  The murals are over 100 feet in length so it's a big task.  Especially since camels are the hardest things I've ever sketched.  Seriously... even when they look right... they don't look right.  Their anatomy appears to defy all that I know of the natural world.  I'm exhausted... partly because it's really stressful to work on projects like this where you have an immediate audience of other volunteers and you're trying to quickly adapt art to fit on the spot.  Plus, there were also a few other non-mural things that came up that I've been helping with or making decisions on.  It's just a very intense week.  On Friday, it'll open to the public and there'll be hundreds of people going through to see several hundred nativities... and it'll all be worth it.

My nights have been long too.  B isn't sleeping well.  Yesterday, she stayed home from school because she wasn't feeling well due to lack of sleep. (She'd only slept a few hours all night.)  My own insomnia kicked in to full gear around fifth grade, so seeing her struggling with this... kills me.  I know it's not my fault, but it feels like my fault.  I brought these genes to the mix and between her OCD and her insomnia... she really got nailed by the worst of what I brought.  I think it's partly hormones and partly stress at school causing this insomnia... and her OCD.  It just sucks, though.  She can't seem to stay asleep more than a few hours and then sometimes she can't get back to sleep.

I also managed to injure my foot really bad two weeks ago.  I tripped over the kids' metal stilts.  It didn't swell at all, and I had it x-rayed and there's nothing wrong with it... per se... other than it's been two weeks, and I have to keep slamming it with the maximum dosages of ibuprofen and naproxen around the clock or it's crippling.  The ER doctor called it a gnarly stub, but she said if it wasn't healed by 10 days, I should come back in or see my doctor because it's possible it's something else or they missed a fracture.  I just really don't want to go back in, so I keep tossing back the meds... for a stubbed toe.  It's ridiculous.

Then, there was Thanksgiving... and I really wanted to blog about all the things I'm thankful for, but time slipped away from me, and this mural thing started up.  *sighs* I need a few more hours in my day.  Hours that can be spent sleeping, not sketching or writing or revising. Maybe I'll manage a post on that in December because I really do have a lot to be thankful for.

So, that's been my November.  I really need to submit another two short stories in addition to the Mystery Times Ten short... and I have a lot of revision ahead of me.

Peace in the Chaos of a Crowded Mind

I don't normally do this--as I see my blog as my own little corner of my own little space.  (I don't usually advertise my posts on Twitter or elsewhere--though I'm grateful for those who follow my blog.  If I thought this blog got a lot of hits I might watch what I say a little more.)  So, normally, I don't post warnings on content, but I will this time.

*Warning--this post contains content religious in nature and if that offends you in any way--well, first, it's odd that you're here, but anyway... this isn't the post you're looking for--move along.  I won't apologize for my religious or spiritual nature, but I also don't want contention or to offend anyone.*

*Consider yourself warned*

I haven't been secretive about my recent OCD struggles, but I don't think anyone without OCD can really understand the nature of OCD and how difficult it is.  I've now been off meds for an entire year, and it hasn't been a good thing.  It's been a hard year.  Unfortunately, the meds have nasty side effects.  Severe memory loss.  Elevated blood pressure.  Elevated heart rate.  Sweating.  Palpitations.  Muscle spasms.  Muscle memory problems (I forget how to make my muscles move the way I want them to.)  Dry mouth to the point my lips crack and the roof of my mouth peels and bleeds.  Sometimes, my throat is so sore that it swells and I think I'm choking to death.  Sexual side effects.  Headaches.  Insomnia.  Drowsiness.  Mood swings.  Appetite loss.  Weight gain.  Nausea.  Stomach pain.  Dizzy spells.  Hallucinations.  Vision aberrations.  I talk in my sleep... all night... when I can sleep.  And these are the meds that I can take because they don't make me suicidal as some of the meds did. I have three different meds that have to be taken three times a day at exact times (so I carry them with me everywhere and have alarms set.)  It's hell.  The meds are hell.  They control me rather than the other way around.  They rule everything I do.  I can't leave home without them--can't miss a dose--can't skip meals.

So, going back on meds... isn't a decision I leap into.  It's not going to be fun.  I knew it was an inevitability.  I knew I wouldn't be able to be off them forever. I'll need to ramp up my dosage over the course of a month or two months.  I'll need to go see my doctor and probably see him regularly again for the first few months.  I hate hospitals.  I hate doctor's offices.  It's expensive.  The meds are expensive.  The month of ramping up back onto them--will be awful.  The side effects as my brain fights the intrusion will make me wish I wasn't going back on them... maybe even wish I was in the middle of a nightmare that I could wake up from.  It'll be that bad.

On the other hand, there's my OCD.  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder can take many forms and have varied symptoms.  Mine is considered severe.  On the outside, if I didn't talk about it, you wouldn't know.  My symptoms aren't obvious.  One of my most severe symptoms never steps outside my head in fact.  The dark thoughts... the dark and crazy thoughts that make me think I'm evil and violent and dark.  It's all in my head.  The darkness gets thicker and thicker and harder to ignore... until I reach a point where I feel too dark to even be in church anymore.  I feel too dark to be around people.  I want to crawl into a corner and let the darkness have me--if it wants inside so much--just take me already.

You were probably wondering when I was going to bring up religion.

I woke up this morning and my first thought was: "You need to talk to your bishop about this."  For those unfamiliar with the LDS/Mormon church we have an unpaid clergy... in fact, we're all unpaid and volunteer.  Our tithes and offerings go to support the meetinghouses and welfare programs and support administration needs, but the actual clergy and offices are unpaid.  So, a Mormon bishop makes nothing for watching over and worrying over 500+ souls.  So, my next thought was: "The bishop is too busy."  I got ready for church and the feeling persisted until there was nearly a shout in my head, saying, "Wendy... talk to the bishop about your OCD."  I shouted back, "No, he'll think I'm a freak... and I don't want to waste his time." I went to church and the prompting in my head continued... and I pushed it back... and in the clutter of my crowded mind, I thought it would go away.

There are three hour-long blocks in a typical Sunday church meeting time.  During the second and third hours I'm the secretary in the children's organization and help out in there.  During the second hour, we were practicing a program, and I discovered there was no trash can in the room.  I went out into the hall to throw away some trash and passed the bishop.  He said, "How are you?" and I mumbled something noncommittal under my breath... here was my chance, but I couldn't take it.  I just couldn't.  I didn't deserve it anymore... the darkness had won.  I just couldn't.  The shouting voice in my head said, "Oh for crying out loud, Wendy!" but I ignored it.  When I turned from the trash can, he was watching me with a perplexed look and said, "I feel like we need to talk.  For some reason, I think we need to talk. Do you have a minute to talk?"

So, we went into his office and I told him... I told him everything.  I told him about the OCD and how awful it is but how the meds are their own version of hell too.  I told him all the stress we're going through.  How T seems to rage from one moment to the next.  How we can't seem to have two running cars at any given time.  How I don't even feel like I belong in the chapel anymore because I have such darkness in my head.  I told him that I feel like this will be the rest of my life... this need to be medicated in order to be acceptable.  I told him I'm a better person when I'm medicated and how much that hurts.  We ended up talking for over an hour about it.  He offered a few solutions to things, but mostly he just listened.

I've often wished we had confessionals in our church--so you could go tell someone these things.  Sometimes the need to confess is so strong.  And there is a cathartic feeling that comes from not carrying the burden of the secrets of your soul by yourself.

At the end, he asked if he could offer a prayer for me, and I agreed.  And in the loud chaos of my mind there was the quiet clarity of his voice as he prayed for enough peace within me to make the decision I'll need to.  For the first time in a long time, my mind is quiet again.  I can't tell you how rare this is right now or how good it feels to not feel the crowd yelling in my head.  I don't feel dark inside.  I don't feel evil--just like he told me I wasn't.

Our bishop is an amazing man.  I can't imagine the burden he must carry after days where people dump the emotional baggage that I just dropped on him.  I'm just one person and there are a lot of members in our ward...

I never told him that I'd felt like I should talk to him all morning, but I couldn't bring myself to intrude on his busy schedule.  He told me that he'd felt a strong prompting to talk to me when he saw me.

I don't really know how to classify this blog post.  It's about OCD.  It's a little about my family.  It's about being LDS/Mormon.  I don't even know why I'm mentioning it--other than maybe I still need that catharsis of unburdening myself after such an emotional experience.

My Mormon.org profile went live this week.  For those not LDS, our church has been very vocal about what we believe and who we are.  You've probably seen the "I'm a Mormon" ads on the internet and on tv.  We were asked to fill out a profile so that others could find kindred spirits and see we're more and less than we're made out to be.  I filled out my profile, and it was awaiting approval for quite a while.  Then... because the world is a small one after all, someone I know from Twitter contacted me to let me know he'd reviewed my profile and it was "live." If you're curious, here's mine: http://mormon.org/me/6J6T/Wendy/  You can go check it out and see that we're not all freaks.  (To find the non-freaks, you'll want to click on one of the profiles on the side, of course.)

Since this post is religious in nature--and I warned you--I'll delete comments that are negative in any way.  I doubt I'll have a problem with that, but I get weird spammy moments on here, and it wouldn't surprise me if this post nets a few.

Thanks for reading.

Breakable Me

So, the title of this post is based on this song by Ingrid Michaelson: 

... and from the first time I heard it, it made me think of days and moments like today when you recognize you're fragile in so many ways.  You don't feel badass or even sturdy--you feel breakable--like your skin is actually egg shells instead of a coat.  

Right now that feeling is based on a lot of things.  I'm very stressed out.  Spring and fall are hard for me.  The season changes bring allergies and time adjustments and the rain--which means less Vitamin D. I also have a lot of strange memories that get to me.  In the spring, it's when B was diagnosed... and a few other unpleasant memories.  In fall, I had a really bad October four years ago when I was trying to get on medication for my OCD.  Every October since then I've felt haunted by those days.  It's silly to let dates and seasons depress me, but I never claimed to not be silly.  I know it's common in some with OCD to have these emotional connections to dates.  Some of January, March 8th, most of May, the time changes, October 31st... they're fragile times.  They've kept a piece of me that I can't seem to get back. 

Then, there are my kids.  T is having more bad days than good days lately. He's been struggling with manic violence again, and his school life seems to bounce between okay and upsetting.  B is doing well in school, but she is spending a lot of time distracted and in her own little origami world when home.  They're both fragile in their own ways.  I want to protect them while not sheltering them and this strange balance is killing me each year.  They have to adapt to a hostile world, but watching it and allowing it... is very hard.  I have to deal with their parent-teacher conferences in two weeks, and I just found out my husband has been tapped for a business trip for then.  He'll also be missing their annual church program.  The timing isn't his fault and not within his control... but it's lousy.

There is also the revision I've been working on with Secrets of Skin and Stone.  I've skipped around burn-out with this one.  I also did a few more revisions this year on other manuscripts--revisions that will need to be revisited.  Usually my revisions have felt more successful than these ones.  Maybe with a little more guidance or some perspective I'll be able to figure out where I went wrong, but... *sighs*  When you've done a lot of revision, it's a bit of a blow to your self esteem as a writer.  I never feel like my first draft is fantastic, but having to rework a manuscript over and over and over peels off those layers of self confidence. There's some point where the fragile being inside you just wants to whisper "am I good enough yet?"  That point was a month and a half ago. Sarah is going over my latest revision now, and I might have another round yet. 

Is it really any wonder I feel breakable?  Maybe other people handle it better.  Maybe they don't.  I just feel so fragile. 

So, I thought I would write and submit to this anthology: http://www.entangledinromance.com/2011/10/03/call-for-subs-superhero-anthology/  Working on a new WIP has felt really good actually.  It felt like magic and everything I love about writing.  It was beautiful and perfect... until I had to show other people.  Then, I got worried and fragile again.  Now, I just need to revise it before November 1st.  There's just one problem... there isn't enough time to just set it aside and come back to it myself in a few months and do most of the revision without help. I've used line-edit or intense betas in the past, but that was when I had some sort of shell.  I've got nothing now.  I write to escape from stress.  Right now, both my worlds feel like they're under attack.  It's got me thinking maybe I can't do this.  Maybe I can't make that deadline without pushing myself too much. 

I feel so fragile and breakable. I hate it.  I hate it so much.  I want to have that thick skin and pretend that nothing hurts and nothing matters, but I don't... I don't have that. 

How do you handle the days like this?  And what would you do about the anthology and revising something that you just want to pretend doesn't need to be revised? 

And we are so fragile,

And our cracking bones make noise,

And we are just,

Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

Standardized Testing and the Non-Standard Kid

As most of you probably know, B has been diagnosed with both Autism and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but she is fully mainstreamed, and the school dropped services for her right after Kindergarten because, among other things, her IQ was too high. Her teachers have definitely filled in any gaps this might have caused and been all around awesome.  B has thrived and regularly gets awards for citizenship as well as academics.  Her teachers have said she is the best math student in their class every year. It doesn't, however, change these disorders that hide under the surface. The teachers adjust and learn to accommodate. We adjust and learn to accommodate.  Most of her peers probably don't know she has Autism; though, some sense that she is different and either gravitate towards her because she's sweet or try to bully her. 

Last year, B's fourth grade teacher brought up a concern at Parent/Teacher conference.  Though my daughter's creative writing is exemplary, the teacher said B is struggling with technical writing. When presented with technical writing, B tends to list things rather than keep to the accepted protocol for a paragraph. As a fiction writer, my first thought was, "And?  What's the problem?  Technical writing is boring."  The reality is that, of course, technical writing is the bulk of your schooling output.  (*whispers* It's still boring.)  We discussed how she was presenting the assignments and the wording of the assignments and how it might be perceived by a very literal child with Autism and OCD.  The teacher began rewording things and B's understanding of what was expected increased. 

Then came the standardized testing.  The government program No Child Left Behind has made standardized testing into a monster lurking in every teacher's closet.  It's all they talk about in class for the last quarter of school. All. They. Talk. About. Parents are sent home notes about how to help their children prepare for the testing days. (Getting enough sleep, eating breakfast, and so on.)  These tests are made out to be the beginning and end of all testing. Schools get closed or students can be sent to other schools if a school's overall scores aren't high enough--so schools take these tests very seriously. This means a very literal child will also take the scores very seriously. 

B got her scores back last Friday in a sealed envelope which she excitedly brought to me.  She'd told me over and over throughout the summer that she just knew she'd gotten everything right on the math portion.  I kept telling her, "You might have missed some."  She'd give me a serious look and say, "No, I didn't. I checked my answers." I'd respond, "It's okay if you missed some.  Sometimes it's hard to understand directions." B would blink and say, "I didn't get any wrong. I checked my answers."

I opened the envelope, and stared... and stared.  First of all, her math and reading scores were listed as advanced (though she did miss some on the math test despite "checking.")  On the other hand, her writing score was listed as "not passing." My daughter was watching me with excitement so I said, "Sweetie, you rocked the math portion!" "I got them all right, didn't I?" "Not quite, but close." I hoped she wouldn't ask about the rest, but B isn't like that. "How about Reading and Writing?" "You did really well in Reading too!"  "How about in Writing?" "Not quite as good, but that's okay." She wandered off, satisfied with my answers, but I've just been upset since. 

I don't care about the score to be honest.  I know my daughter can write, and her teachers are aware she has circumstances which will mean directions need to be worded in a certain way, and they can't expect her to learn in the same way as her classmates. Teachers accommodate. The world in general accommodates. Tests don't. 

What offends me to my soul is that an autistic child's scores will be taken at face value, and a school's funding will be based on the fact that she failed a standardized testing section. Theoretically, her school may receive less funding because they have a Special Needs child and because a test wasn't worded in a way that an atypical child can understand. It boggles the mind that THIS is the monster that No Child Left Behind has created. THIS was meant to ensure that no child was left behind.  

When B was in Kindergarten, she shared an aide with another Autistic child.  When Kindergarten ended, the administrators decided that the other child's needs were too much for them to accommodate, and that B was no longer in need of specialized attention. The other child was sent to a special school though he'd previously been considered a good candidate for mainstreaming.  B was sent on to her first "full day" year without even an aide in with her.  Why?  Because there isn't the funding for individualized attention. Why isn't there the funding?  Because of a super special program called No Child Left Behind which caters to kids who are typical and test well. 

Standardized testing has hurt my children time and time again.  My daughter was given an IQ test in Kindergarten.  An IQ test in Kindergarten.  Her IQ was too high for her to receive individualized attention.  We complained that Autism is a social disorder, and they replied that such needs weren't the responsibility of the school AND COULDN'T BE TESTED. 

What has happened to our society that the only proof we deem worthy and the only success we measure is found in numbers?  If it isn't in the numbers, it doesn't exist.  It was what they said when they took away my son's services even as they were telling me he needed to be kept in services, but it would be my responsibility.   "I'm sorry. He really needs these services, but the numbers just aren't there." 

Standardized testing on non-standardized kids doesn't work.  How do you explain a child who scores highly-advanced in reading and math, but fails in writing?  Perhaps it wasn't the child but the test that failed. Maybe it wasn't even the test that failed, but the people who have elevated that test to be an indication of success.  Perhaps all of us fail just a little bit when numbers become king like this and needs of individuals are lost in the process. 

I don't have any answers, but I know those right answers won't be found in bubbles on a scantron sheet. 

If you've never seen Matt Damon's speech on standardized testing, it's brilliant and you should really check it out here. You'll want to go find him and hug him. 

Thanks for listening to me rant about this.  I wanted to cry when B looked up at me and asked about her writing score.  Some moments aren't fair... and that was one of them. 

Back into the Fray

Oy, once again, I seem to have forgotten to keep up with my blog. I don't know how other writers who are parents manage to get it all done. I'm really struggling to find the hours while still allow for down time at night to recover from the day. My kids have only been in school since last Wednesday so maybe I'll start to find more hours for social networking endeavors and writing.

So, Sarah got back with line edits on the first eleven chapters of Secrets of Skin and Stone's revision but the remaining thirteen are going to take more than line edits... which is sort of what I felt when I finished them. It's a complicated emotion this whole revision thing.... On the one hand, you want it to magically be done and perfect, but when you know it's not... you don't want your agent coming back and telling you that it is.

September might be another month spent on revisions. Possibly October. I hope not October.

Diana, early on, told me to learn to love revising because I'd be doing a lot of it. I won't say I absolutely adore this later revision process. I do like reading it the first time after it's complete almost as much as I enjoy the creation process. I'm okay with revisions, though, and it's a good thing because Diana was right. Holy cow, writers spend a lot of time doing revisions.

So. Much. Time.

Someone asked me how many times I'd revised Secrets of Skin and Stone, and I have no idea at this point. There have been major revisions... and I've done four or five of those. There have been endless amounts of smaller revisions where I'd read through it and catch smaller things.

So. Many. Revisions.

I'm approaching my third year anniversary of finishing my first novel, and I'll have been on Twitter for two years at that point. There are a ton of writers out there. A ton. There are a lot on Twitter. Finishing a novel is hard but you learn so much along the way. Revising is the same way. A writer who doesn't write is not a writer. A writer who doesn't revise will never improve. I have improved and continue to improve, and it's a process that your writing needs... that you need.

Anyway, this blog post feels rambling when all I really planned on saying is that I'm back to working on revisions.

As far as the kids go, they're both loving school, but T's sensory system is very touchy, and they've both managed to pick up their first colds already. (Gotta love the school's petri dish.) B is in a class with my best friend's son, and she loves her teacher. I think this is going to be a good school year. *fingers crossed*

So... back into the fray... *opens Word document* *battle cry ensues*

Cutting Deep

Wow, it's been a crazy August. I just got back from a vacation with family last Monday. It was a rough trip. We managed to catch the stomach flu and one or the other kid was hurling half the days we were there. We still did a lot of stuff and saw family, but it was rough.

I finished off the revision on SECRETS for the film agent with my agency yesterday. I still have a lot of polishing and reworking to do, but I got through to the end. I connected point A to point B. It wasn't pretty. At all. I stripped the story down to the bones and then rebuilt it. The most significant alteration she wanted was for more plot. Adding more plot to a story isn't pretty. I never want to do it again. I will if I have to, but it's not fun.

When this all started, my agent, Sarah, sent me two things to help me with this revision. First, she'd compiled all the revision notes from a lot of different people including one of my beta readers and my husband. If more than two people said it and she agreed, it made it into the revision notes. The second thing she sent me was extremely helpful, but not in the way I'd have guessed: she sent me chapter notes on SECRETS and that's when I realized that entire chapters were about character development not plot development. So, my goal was to change that... to add events so that every single chapter had a significant event in it.

The frustrating thing is that when a story changes this much--you're sort of left in shell shock when it's done. People keep asking me if I've improved it, and I can't tell. It's different. It's very different. I'm not sure what to think of it. The previous story was all about the relationship between Piper and Gris. This one is about the story around them. It's focusing with a broader scope than before. I like it. It still makes me cry, but it's very different. Some chapters started from scratch.

I'd told Sarah before beginning that I expected this revision to end with about 80% new/altered material. I think it's about right. I went from 36 chapters to 24 chapters. It decreased from 92K down to 89K. It's just so very different from before. Plot points moved around or were dropped. A substantial amount of plot points were added. I stole a scene from the second book.

It's madness, I tell you! Madness!

Every time you add an event to a story, it ripples out. All the stuff early on meant that chapter 23... was entirely new. I had to toss out the next to last chapters in their entirety. They meant nothing and made no sense. The only thing they had in common with the previous novel's final chapters were the location and the same characters.

Another hard thing about this revision is I've been sending Sarah six chapters at a time as I finished them so she could make sure I was on the right track. Sending chapters from a book that was incomplete... nearly killed me. I never send off chapters to people unless I'm really not sure it works at all... and then I just send it to my sisters usually... very close beta readers... not someone I'm trying to convince that I'm a good writer. I just finished my Kindle read-through to look for major plotholes and typos... and it makes me sick that I sent off "rough draft" chapters to Sarah. *shudders* My rough drafts aren't hideous, but they aren't anything I want to show anyone... ever... at all.

Anyway, I've been a bear to be around this summer while I was working on this. This was a tough revision.

"Easy reading is damn hard writing." ~Hawthorne

*Wendy hugs a dead writer* Yes, Hawthorne... yes, exactly.

I'm hoping to finish off this revision completely and email it to Sarah tomorrow. (This will make me a wreck while I'm waiting for her reply.) She is talking about sending me a hardcopy of revision notes which, frankly, scares the crap out of me and will be my first real experience with a gritty red pen editing type deal. I might go out and stockpile a case of Mt. Dew for that. It might be the only way.

In other news, my kids start school in a week and a half, and my husband will be in Hawaii all week on a business trip. Fate, you crazy minx... you do like to mix it up, don't you? This week should be interesting. (In the previous sentence, "interesting" actually means "likely to suck hard, hairy, grimy rocks." So, that's interesting, huh?)

I have more in my brain to blog about, but I need to get to this revision and knock it out. So, some other time... *blows kisses*

If you know a writer, go give them a hug because sometimes writing isn't fun and I don't know why we do it other than it's in our blood. I just hope this is what Sarah and the film agent wanted because... well, this was some damn hard writing.

The Obsessive Side to OCD

I can't sleep. I'm exhausted. I want to sleep. I had a good workout at the gym. I got far too much sun. I spent the day watching my kids and my sister's kids while my husband and sister worked on her treehouse. By all rights, I should be able to fall into my bed and go to sleep right away, but I can't. My brain won't let go of one event that happened today, and it keeps going back again and again and again.

So, my sister painted her house in latex paint... and it's been really hard on my lungs and allergies. When I went to her house last night, it was bothering me still... even though it's been days since she painted. So, today, I was on the fence about going back. My husband told me that it'd be okay if I stayed home. I wanted to stay home. On the other hand, my sister has a two year old and having the older kids watch a two year old didn't sit right with me, so I went.

My sister's two year old is a wild child. He is trouble... boxed... canned... compacted... with a capital T. Trouble. So, I was checking on him frequently and trying to keep him out of too much trouble. One of the times I went to check on him, I found that he was downstairs with all the other kids... which was good. They were all engrossed on DSs or playing. On the other hand, the two year old had thrown my sister's little tiny dog into the aboveground pool before going off with the others. I dragged the exhausted dog out of the pool (because the sides were too slick for him to get out.) The dog collapsed in the sun for a long time to reheat and recover... but he was fine.

I'm not fine. I just keep thinking, "What if I hadn't gone outside to check on him?" "What if I hadn't gone today?" "What if...?"

My brain won't let it go.

I just want to turn it over and over and over in my head.

I can't sleep even though... technically... nothing bad happened.

I live my life in careful mode. I examine everything from every possible scenario several times. I plan for the worst possible eventualities.

It's not good. It's not easy. It's not fun, but that's how I live my life. That's what OCD means to me. I have to be extra extra extra careful because the world is full of people who won't be as careful... and bad things happen when people aren't careful. Bad things.

Bad things like my nephew drowning their dog because my sister has told him that dogs can swim and they've watched her put the dog in the pool to swim. Every time I've been there and they've put the dog in the pool, I've said, "Do you really think you should do that? If he gets put in there and they forget him... he'll drown." My sister has rolled her eyes at my overly careful attitude for years now... and, in so many cases, she's right. She lives her life with a lot more abandon than I do. She lets her 10 year old daughter use sharp knives and cook on the stove... and has for years. B will be able to drive before I let her do either of those things.

I'm stuck in permanent careful mode.

When this pays off... it's not a good thing, trust me. I just want to wrap the world in bubble wrap and tell them not to play with sharp objects. I just want to shake my sister for not planning for every possible bad thing in the entire world in multiple and often implausible scenarios.

I might never get to sleep.

There is this phrase: "You can never be too careful." It's a lie. You can. I'm living that phrase. I am the poster child for what happens if you're too careful. On the other hand, I also think it's true to the depths of my very OCD soul. It's true, you can never be too careful because, chances are, even if you try very, very, very hard, you'll never be as careful as me.

And that's the truth.

Prying the Words Out

So, my insomnia finally broke a few nights back... when it no longer mattered what time I needed to be up in the morning. That's the bitter irony about insomnia--you get the sleep when it doesn't matter anymore.

I'm up to my neck in the hardest revision I've ever done. Revising Secrets is like drowning slowly. I've made so many changes to characters and scenes that it keeps snowballing to later chapters... nothing can be the same in the end if you overhaul where it began. Plus, I'm meant to be adding more plot points and action, but I just don't know if it's enough. This is hard. Really hard. My husband kept coming up to check on me yesterday when I'd dragged my laptop into the therapy room to work. Every time he'd come up I'd rant at him about how hard it was and how much it kept snowballing to more revision. I was living up to the crazed writer stereotype yesterday.

Part of this is summer being what it is, though. It's rare for the kids to have a quiet "nothing scheduled" day. Every day is a new scheduled activity or a planned playdate or something. I'm insisting on down days for T because he isn't handling the strain any better than I am. We've had long keening/crying jags and last Wednesday he started banging his head against things to cope. On Saturday, we spent the day in Seattle watching "Aladdin the Musical" in the kids' first real theatre experience. By the drive home, both kids were crying and overwrought. We had a whole week of day camp for T the previous week. He was a wreck by the end of it. I was a wreck by the end of it.

*sighs*

Anyway, today is one of those rare "nothing scheduled" days, so I'd planned to work more on the revision. I've told Sarah that I'll have it done by the end of August, but I haven't added that I really, really, really have to have it done and have moved on to something less stressful.

This revision... this summer... this chaos... is killing me.

On the other hand, I think the kids are having fun. The parts they'll remember... will be fun. I'm hoping they forget the crying and strain and their mother hiding in the therapy room and remember the fun. I'm also confident I can do this revision. I just wish my brain didn't feel so muddy from trying to mesh the old and new and change everything while keeping the good parts.

I'm nearly to the point where I drop the old manuscript other than a few scenes. I'm not sure how to do it... at all. I don't think Sarah knows how to do it. She's been cheerleading me on Twitter and through email, but I don't think anyone really knew how to cut and yet save with this. Sarah took advice from like eight different sources and sent me their notes... but it was pointless to give revision notes throughout the story because this revision was going to change so much.

This revision/reinvention/reimagination is the hardest writing work I've ever done and most of the time, I feel like I'm floundering as I think: Does this work or am I just creating more stuff to cut?

I sent Sarah the first six chapters reworked a week ago and she approved them... but now... that seems like the easy part comparatively. It just keeps snowballing to more changes. It feels like I've got a crowbar, and I'm prying the words out of my brain. I know when I've finished it's going to take some serious work to make it flow and not look like it was crowbarred out of the muse.

It's so hard. I quoted this on Twitter but it's worth resaying: Nathaniel Hawthorne said, "Easy reading is damn hard writing." It's true. Making this flow so it reads like it did before... is hard. I think it had a natural flow before but it lacked in other ways. Trying to make sure it's not just all character development... is hard. I mentioned before how I sometimes "Clark Kent" characters. I give my paranormal characters some great powers, but then I tell their Clark Kent story. It turns out... the Clark Kent story is easier. The story about character development is easier. This... this is hard.

I think I'll need to go for a run later. Running always seems to help me clear the fog of too many voices and ideas out of my head. So do vitamins and caffeine and Vitamin D (via sun exposure)... I've been trying to get all those ducks in a row. Strangely enough... sleep has never helped or affected my writing. I do some of my best writing when sleep-deprived--even if it needs more clean-up. I'm hoping I'll get on a roll soon and it'll just turn into magic where the ideas seem to have a life of their own. I'm hoping to ease up on the crowbar. I'm hoping.

I wish I had a time machine and I could get to the end of August where I'll have this revision done, and I could just pick up the completed revision without all this mind-numbing chaotic stress... but that's just fiction... and possibly lazy. And while I am often lazy... even I don't believe in time travel. Besides, that'd totally mess up the space time continuum.

Conversations with an Eight Year Old--Part Two

So, the endless questions continue with T. They go on and on. Sometimes, I wake up to him staring at me, waiting to ask me a question. His Aspergers means that he doesn't "get" why this is creepy and weird. Sometimes, he also doesn't get that when people have their eyes closed while in bed... they're sleeping. The other day, he woke me up by throwing a can of raviolis at me while saying, "I'm hungry." In the car, I'm a captive audience to throw questions at... endless questions... forever and ever and ever and ever....

Today:

T: "So, school is like slavery, isn't it?"

Wendy: (sputters out laughing) "What? No! School is nothing like slavery."

T: "Well, there are rules and rules are like laws and laws are like orders. So, school is like slavery."

Wendy: "School is nothing like slavery. Learning and math and reading are nothing like slavery."

T: "A little, though, right?"

Wendy: "No."

T is silent for a bit and I think he's conceded the point, but I don't know why I think this anymore. He cannot and will not concede any points as long as he draws breath. (See previous post on genner.)

T: "They tell you what to do at school, though; so, that's like slavery."

Wendy: "School is nothing like slavery."

T: "Why?"

Wendy: (I'm tired... exhausted actually, so my ability to form logical arguments has completely deserted me.) "Because I said it's not. You're in school to learn, and it's not that bad."

T: (mutters under breath) "School is a little like slavery."

B: "What's twenty times twenty-four?"

Wendy: (has nervous breakdown)

*head slap* Okay, so some of you might think, "Hey, Wendy... you missed a wonderful and touching opportunity to explain the plight of slavery in history and modern times. You missed a glorious teaching moment! For shame!" First of all, this is my blog... and how dare you? HOW DARE YOU??? *diva slap* Actually, in all honesty, I was too tired to do anything other than "because I said so!" but also THIS IS T. T will pick the worst possible moment to parrot back comments or ask awkward questions. Until you're in a grocery store and your son says loudly, "So, I know the Chinese kill their boy babies due to overpopulation, but I have one question..." well... you just wouldn't understand. Trust me. He does that.

*makes note to thank husband for explaining infanticide in overpopulated Asian countries to second grader*

So, next time you feel like saddling up your moral high horse and riding it around my blog... first... nice horse... second... I'm not touching the land mine that is slavery until he's in fourth grade, and I won't sound like a zealot when my son parrots it back in the weirdest terms possible. People expect fourth graders to know crazy weird things. People don't really expect small boys to spout weird facts and info in grocery stores. Trust me, I know these things. I've learned these things. I'm waiting.

In the mean time, I'm going to continue to throw my poor eight year old into what he thinks is akin to cruel oppression.

Actually, I can't wait until third grade rolls around, and he's forced to go back to that hell hole where they worry if he doesn't have a coat at recess when they send him out to play on the biggest slide I've ever seen at a grade school.

Because that's what slavery is... the cold cruel world with a giant slide that they force you to sit down on when you slide down it.

These awful rules... which are like laws which is almost the same as orders! This oppressive regime. What are they thinking? They're monsters! Monsters!

We also got into a discussion about what constituted singing vs. humming vs. whistling vs. chanting when I asked them to be very, very quiet because I had a really, really bad headache. (I've had headaches nearly every day for a week... I've been a tiny bit short-tempered.) Specifically... I first asked them not to hum because it made my head want to explode. Specificity is often my downfall.

Today:

Wendy: "STOP!"

T: "I wasn't humming anymore. I was singing then. Humming isn't the same as singing."

Wendy: (moans) "Just be quiet."

B: (whistles)

Wendy: "Stop whistling."

T: "I can still sing right? You didn't mention singing? I can still sing right?"

Wendy: "Stop making noise!"

B: "What if I whistle quietly?"

Wendy: "No."

(Someone in the back seat starts banging things together.)

Wendy: (snarls) "We're playing a game... it's called "If you make any noise with anything, I will throw it out the window." Stop clicking things together!"

T: "So, if I hum you'll throw my mouth out the window?"

Wendy: "Yes! Yes, I will. Would you like to test that theory?"

(Blissful silence for nearly a minute while T tries to figure out how that might work... and then he starts humming.)

B: "What's four hundred plus three hundred and sixty-seven?"

*sighs* When is September again? Can we skip August just this once?

Riding in Cars with Boys

I could have also titled this post "How I Spent my Summer Vacation" because it amounts to the same thing. Summers are spent shuttling my kids from place to place to place to place.... endlessly. Either it's playdates or activities or scouts for T or stuff for B. I spend an outrageous amount of time in the car with the kids during the summer.

B has her annoying car ride moments. She likes to play this math game which makes everyone want to beat their head against something sharp. "What's one plus one plus two plus seven plus....." She genuinely enjoys these little math word problems, but the rest of us (and specifically me--due to the repetition... well, it's hell... it really is.)

She STOPS though... (once I scream her name in a voice that sounds like I'm on the verge of a breakdown) not so with the son.

T's annoying car moments beat B's to a bloody pulp and then stand on the corpse and kick its head. No. Really. T asks question after question after question. Car rides are like a long endless game of Jeopardy where everything is in the form of a question. Most are science questions which I can't answer. Some are about computer games... which I also can't answer. Some are logic problems--I'm not logical. A handful are about movies--YES!!!!! They're rare and usually he bounces to a completely different subject immediately. My husband can answer about 99% of the questions. This has led my son to believe his mother is an idiot. Sometimes I agree with him.

T has Asperger's, though which often leads to a belief that he is always right... even when he is wrong... he's right. He's also a genius--for only being eight... he's a fricken genius. One thing he is frequently incorrect on is the pronunciation of things. He's so far ahead for his age that he's read thousands of words that he's never "heard" before. So, rather than correcting the pronunciation in his brain, he stubbornly insists that his pronunciation is ALWAYS the right one. This comes up, at least, once a day.

Today, this is how our car ride went:

Wendy: "I'm tired of approving all these accounts for you on these online sites. I wake up to emails every day now saying, "Your son has opened an account on..." well... actually it says "your child...." not "your son." (I have to make this corrections because T will dive bomb them.)

T: "Yeah, it says "your child" because it doesn't ask for my genner on the sites."

Wendy: "It's pronounced GENDER not genner."

T: "I pronounce it genner."

Wendy: "I'm not having this conversation with you." (I fought him on feature which he was pronouncing future the previous day for ten minutes, and he is still intending to pronounce it future.)

T: (seriously) "Because you know I'll win?"

Wendy: (Laughs so hard that she nearly can't breathe)

T: "That's it, isn't it? You know I'll win. I always win."

Wendy: "No... well... maybe in your mind."

T: (not seeing a difference between what I just said and reality): "Exactly. I always win."

Wendy: (Takes a long drink of Mt. Dew)

B: "What's one plus two plus one plus three plus....?"

Wendy: (Takes another long drink of Mt. Dew)

T: "Mom, one question: if you took those pull-string party poppers and cut them in half and then...."

Wendy: (ignores son and daughter)

T: "Do you suppose that's a future of them?" (He means feature.)

Wendy: (Has nervous breakdown)

So, now you know... I drink (Mt. Dew) and drive... also you can see why my sanity is slipping and raggedy around the edges... which is why I took my kids to their aunt's house tonight and they're spending the night with her... because I was pretty sure I was at the end of my rope. Really. Their cool aunt Heidi is intending on taking them to the Drive-in. I'm so excited. It's so quiet in this house without them. Blissfully quiet. Strangely quiet. And no questions. Le sigh. *eyes Husband* He'll probably ask questions just to annoy me now. I should drag him out on a date before he tries that.

Yay or nay. Yeah or nah. Oui or Non. It's done.

So, I took Sentinel's Run from a level zero to a level... five... with seven being the highest. (Because I like seven... that's why... so shut up.)

The continuity errors gave me fits at first, and I wanted to weep, but I made it through those via lots and lots of Mountain Dew and late nights.

Then, came the voice revision... and you know from previous blog posts that voice is king in my world. A book can have all kinds of problems, but if the voice is good... that saves everything. If I can hear their voice in my head, it's perfect and wonderful and I love it.

I wasn't hearing it on Sentinel's Run... not completely. The world was good. The plot is awesome... it has a lot more action, and it's tighter than my other stories. I might do chapter summaries from now on when I'm preparing to work on a book. But the voice wasn't as obvious as in other books I've recently finished.

Voice is king.

Then, over the weekend, I stumbled across the perfect fix for the voice, and everything fell into place. Usually, that's the way of it--when the voice works, I hear birds and see magic, and I just want to run out into the streets and scream in relief. That's how this was.

In other books, once I figured out a few key words that my MC would say... then I knew what they'd say about everything.

In this book, it was all in how Coby responded to questions... did he say "yes" or "okay" or "fine" or "yeah" or what? Was it "no" or "not really" or "nah" or.... When I realized he'd say "yeah" or "nah" and "fine" but never "no" or "yes" and rarely "okay" it all started slipping into place.

Then, I had Mori... who is from an area heavily influenced by French Quebec... and she keeps slipping into French. So, I went through and made sure that she always responded with "oui" or "non" especially when she was under stress, and I watched for those stressful points and added even more French. All week I've had several tabs with French translations and Quebec slang open... right beside sites with farm equipment pictures. I've looked like a cultured hick according to my browsing history.

So, Sentinel's Run is done... and it's well done. I'm really proud of myself. It's not often that I want to hug a manuscript once it's complete, but I want to hug this one. I've sent it off to three betas who'd read the beginning of it last year when I first started it. Then, I suppose I'll let it settle for six months unless Sarah tells me differently. So, I should be revising it the beginning of next year if I can manage it... which is probably when I'll start the second book in the series... if my schedule holds. Looking back, I haven't really kept to my planned schedule at all so far.

Next up, I have a beta read to work on over the next few days, and then I'm burying myself in SECRETS for the rest of the summer. I need to create a more high-stakes version for the film agent. Woo! Violent cowbell!

My muse wants to work on the other WIP that I walked out on last year, My Other Life, so maybe I'll work on that when I'm done with SECRETS or while working on SECRETS. It takes place in Las Vegas so the voices aren't at all the same. It's also in third person... so that might factor into when I can work on it. I don't know. I might create a chapter summary for it just to keep my brain on task. I might do that for SECRETS too.

Well, that's my writerly news.

In non-writerly news, my husband got our Subaru fixed which entailed swapping out the entire engine. It's pretty amazing. It's been out of commission for a while, so it's weird to have another car. He worked on it all weekend and then some. It's so awesome having a husband who can do stuff like that. It feels magical. He's magical. He can fix anything... I'm pretty sure. Everyone should marry useful geeks like him. The world would be a better place... but not him... he's mine... I found him first... get your own.

My kids had a good 4th of July. T is severely spun out from fireworks and hanging out with friends and family. He fell to pieces today at the park when he thought we were out of water for a moment. (My friend had extra water... and it wasn't more than a short walk to get some.) That's how it works with T... the little things add up until he starts falling to pieces over everything. B is doing really well. We got a YMCA membership and we've been taking her to swim at the pool which is perfect for her sensory system. They have a slide, and she goes down the slide over and over and over and over--in a loop.

I'm really, really stressed out. My OCD is so obvious to me that I just want to make excuses for it and say, "I'm sorry... but I have OCD and that's why I'm acting like this." It's probably not all that obvious to those that don't know, but it feels obvious. It's like when the kids were young and would have meltdowns in grocery stores over minor things and I just wanted to shout "They have Autism! They're not bad kids!" I just want to shout, "I have OCD... I swear I'm not psycho... but can you NOT keep repeating yourself or I'll be forced to kill you! Also, your kid isn't being safe! Go stop them from doing that, or I'll be yanking them off the slide while screaming and shouting and ranting... okay? Okay... good. We're clear that I'm not psycho, though, right?" It's so severe that I can't sleep. I stare at the ceiling for an hour or two or three while my brain obsesses over one thing or the other. Finally, exhaustion is knocking me down at three or four in the morning before T stares me awake at eight a.m. (He has got to learn a better way to wake me up... the staring is so creepy.)

Okay, so that was a long update.

So, how is your summer going? *hugs*

There is Now a Level Zero...

For those who don't recognize the title of this post, it's from Kung Fu Panda. Po wants to start on level zero with his training, and Master Shifu says there is no level zero. Then, Po gets his panda tail kicked by the practice equipment and Master Shifu says, "There is now a level zero."

So, I finished my rough draft of Sentinel's Run last night... uhhh... this morning after a five hour writing jag that went until three in the morning. (It was crazy and Mt. Dew-fueled and my husband caught me typing the last sentence at 3 a.m. and said, "You're still up??? You're not supposed to be up!!!" Yeah, it was crazy, but I was on a roll.)

Normally, and my betas can back me up on this, I don't write rough drafts really. My first drafts are typically fully-realized and clean. (I do revise as I write so that's part of it. Also, my OCD keeps my brain at attention constantly for typos.) They're not final drafts by any means, but they're typically not that rough.

The world in Sentinel's Run is more complex, though, and I've stumbled across a bunch of continuity errors I need to work through. So, while it's done... it's not really done. I'm looking at a genuine rough draft. It's killing me. *shakes manuscript* It's a level zero! Okay, maybe not that bad.... I am a little surprised at how many more traps there are for continuity or contradiction issues when you're dealing with a dystopian world. As my world fleshed out throughout the story I noticed that I'd need to explain things and really establish the rules of my world and make sure I don't stray from them.

A lot of it revolves around non-human characters that I've established. I played fast and loose with some of the rules that I set down for the machines, and I need to go fix that. If you have non-human characters... you know... they have their own motivations and responses and you have to stick to that or give a good reason why you're not. I got a bit sketchy at points. Oy. Bad Wendy.

So, yay... I finished... but I didn't. I also need to work on Mori's voice and decide on some of the intricacies in Coby's speech patterns too, but that might be a further down revision. Then, I'll send it to the three betas I promised it to, and I'll shelve it for six months. (I always have shelved my manuscripts for this long... so that I can get perspective before doing a serious revision on them. I "have" done this anyway, but it's something that might change I suppose with Sarah's involvement in my career.)

It's a weird sort of anticlimactic feeling to finish a level zero manuscript. I don't like it. There's not the adrenalin rush of other manuscripts where I can immediately send it off to betas or read a "finished" product and give myself mental high-fives. On the other hand, I really, really, really like this story. I think once I work out some of these kinks it'll be my best manuscript yet, but we'll see.

*eyes level zero*

I hope.

I also got my revision notes from Sarah for the SECRETS version for the film agent from my agency, so that goes onto the calendar for me to complete this summer. It should have plenty more cowbell... even some violent cowbell... by the time I'm done with it. *punches sky* Violent cowbell!

In non-writing news, my kids' summer schedule is filling up. This morning we went to a reptile display and then to the beach. Tomorrow is yoga, a picnic, and the zoo. Thursday is... something... and so it goes. We'll have to take days off every so often so my son can decompress. Unfortunately, my kids tend to fill my life with noise--happy noise--bickering noise--tv--the computer--their DSs--noise, noise, noise, and I have a hard time writing during the day with background noise. So, I see many Mt. Dew-fueled writing sessions at night in my future. My tolerance of noise is so low right now that even my phone's alerts are making me snarl.

Summer is fun. Loads of fun. Really.