A Balancing Act

Saturday marked my daughter's first gymnastic meet of the Spring Season. Although completely proud of her accomplishments, I was once again reminded how subjective the scoring can be. What looked perfect to me and felt perfect to her, wasn't necessarily reflected on the scoreboard. When she questioned how a teammate, who fell off the beam, scored higher than she did, after not falling off the beam, all I could do was remind her that she should be proud of herself, despite the score she received. After all, we have no idea what the judge is looking for in a routine.

Subjectivity-- a subject's personal perspective, feelings, beliefs, desires or discovery, as opposed to those made from an independent, objective, point of view.

Today I received two rejection letters in my inbox. My head understands that these weren't the agents for me, that what they are looking for isn't what I have to offer. Unfortunately, my heart is wounded. I know this isn't the end for me as a writer. How could it be? I do have a story to tell and I know, in time, the right agent will have faith in me.

The problem...every rejection letter, or no response rejection, allows just a little bit of doubt to creep in. The doubt that maybe I'm just not good enough.

Then I have to remind myself of what I should always tell my daughter. The final scores are not a reflection of who you are, of the abilities you possess. Don't be sidetracked by the opinion of one...be inspired by the promise of another.

Happy New Year!

Welcome 2012!

I stepped away from this blog for awhile to set up a more professional website as I pursue publication of my novel, www.melissablanco.com. In doing so, I learned that I really missed posting over here. Thanks to those who've stuck around.

And here they are, my 2012 New Year's Resolutions...

Finish the baby books. My oldest is eleven now, my youngest turns five next month. I've attempted this venture many, many times before. I always thought I'd have time. I really did. When I left my full-time job, when all three kids started school, while my husband was deployed. The truth is, things just continue to get more hectic as the kids get older. If you are entering the most fabulous world of parenting, learn from me. There will never be time.
Therefore, my first resolution is to finish the baby scrapbooks.

Forgive and let go of the problems of the world which I have no control over. This is a tricky one for me as I was born with a little gene that trickles down through my family tree- the ability to carry a grudge. I stay awake at night fretting about the family members who are currently not speaking to one another, as if my worrying will actually heal the problems that lie between them. Likewise, I carry a certain amount of bitterness with me when hurt by others. Most recently, I reached out to a relative, only to have my efforts ignored. In 2012, I'm going to forgive. And maybe, if I'm lucky, others will follow.

Sign with a literary agent. I've finished the novel and revised/edited it multiple times. I've read books in my genre (women's fiction) and researched trends within publishing. I constantly remind myself that publishing is subjective. That said, it's still scary jumping in and sending out my work. I want to be noticed, I want my work to be appreciated, and more than anything, I'd like to see it on bookstore shelves.

That's it for now...Happy New Year. May 2012 be filled with happy moments for you all.

Change of Address

I'd like to invite all of my fabulous blog followers to visit me at my official website and blog at
http://www.melissablanco.com/.

Thank you to everyone who has followed this blog over the past couple of years. I hope you'll subscribe to my new website, or just stop by and say hi.

Remembering 9/11

I've never been to New York. My mind's images of the island of Manhattan are a culmination of still shots and moving pictures on television shows, movies, and literature. Not once did I walk between the Twin Towers or see them from a sweeping view across the city's horizon. Yet the Twin Towers are embedded in my memory. They are the first pictures which come to mind when I recall the morning of September 11, 2001.

Like most Americans, it was a typical Tuesday morning. My husband was running late for work as I fed our one-year-old breakfast. I was four months pregnant with our son- combined with the fact that our daughter rarely slept, meant I was tired. So very tired. I picked my daughter up out of her highchair and wiped the remainder of Rice Krispies off of her chin before hoisting her onto my hip and turning on the television. What I first assumed to be a really bad movie, turned out to be real. My eyes widened while taking in shocking video of smoke billowing out of both Towers. I called to my husband just as the South Tower fell. "Oh my God," was the only thing I said, before beginning to cry.

It's been ten years. Yesterday my two older children asked what happened on September 11. It's a simple question which is hard for me to explain. How do you adequately convey the horror of that Tuesday, the despair as a third plane flew into the Pentagon, and then again as a fourth crashed into a field? The best answer I could offer them was, "September 11 changed everything."

My husband and I have been married for fifteen years. We've spent two of those years separated by the War on Terror. What our three children don't understand is that 9/11 was the catalyst for how our family is today. Just as I've never been to New York, my children don't know what it's like to have a dad who isn't gone for training every summer, who doesn't have to miss school programs because he's several states away with the Army. They live with the constant knowledge that with each passing year dad is home, it's one year closer to his next deployment. They also don't understand that the children, just like them, whose parents when to work that morning, but didn't come home, are just one of the reasons why I am proud to be married to a Soldier.

Today, I remember. I hope all of us who were alive on September 11 will never forget how we came together as a nation and held one another through our grief. I pray we will always remember the lives lost and the Soldiers who are still protecting us.

My reading recommendations for this September 11:
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
A remarkable novel written from the perspective of two Afghan women living under Taliban rule.

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand
September 11 is often referred to as the Pearl Harbor of our generation. Unbroken is a true story written about the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor in World War 2. A tale of hope, loss and resilience of The Greatest Generation, a title they undoubtedly deserve.

I've found that some of the best moments are the ones we don't plan for. This was a concept which took years to acquire, and unfortunately, it's something I occasionally need to be reminded of.

When I was a sullen teenager, my dad would often announce, "we're going for a drive," at which point I'd load my attitude into the minivan, sulking the entire way, while heaving giant sighs of complaint that he effectively ignored. Dad would then drive along winding roads, the windows rolled down and hot air blasting my spiral permed hair outward in every directions imaginable. My brother would fall asleep the minute the accelerator hit 35mph, as my sister's entire Baby Sitter's Club collection of paperbacks spilled all over the floor mats. Dad would drive down whatever road he fancied before spotting a river, lake, or other scenic viewpoint, at which point he'd stop and we'd all get out.

And...we'd have a fantastic time eating, exploring, trying to skip rocks along the water. Despite my groveling and blatant lack of cooperation, I enjoyed every single moment of those road trips. Even the winding road to get there provided memories, as Dad gave us his verbatim history lesson on the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Yes, my dad was a master at unplanned mountain drives, but he was also quite aware that the only thing standing between him and spending time with his children was a tank of gas.

Part of me realized last Saturday that my dad may have passed these traditions onto me when I awoke that morning with an insatiable desire to just get in the car and go.

The morning went something like this...

Husband, "What do we have to do today?"

Me, "Nothing."

Husband, "Nothing?"

Me, "Absolutely nothing. Amazing, right?"

Husband, "Hmmm."

Me, "Want to take a ride up to the mountain?"

Husband, "Um...okay."

Me, "You feed the dog, I'll pack the water bottles."

We loaded up our three kids, stopped by the store to pick up snacks and drove to the National Park located a mere ninety minutes from our house. The kids protested a bit, we ignored and pressed on. In a word, it was, fabulous.

Like I said, some of the best moments are the ones we don't plan for.

It's already the first week of August and once again the sun isn't shining, but rather, hidden behind a smattering of threatening rain clouds. Oddly enough, I'm not bothered because now I can mark water the lawn off of today's to-do list. Yes, that's just one thing I can forgo in my busy day of revising and parenting, because when you're a stay-at-home mom/writer, the work never really ends. It just gets juggled around depending on who's hungry, has gymnastics class, or desperately needs a time out.

Last week I renamed my to-do list, Stuff I'd Love to Get Done. My oldest, looking over my shoulder as I jotted notes commented, "How come you haven't finished our baby books yet?" I thanked her for the reminder as I added finish baby books to the increasing long array of planning-on-it dreams. Then she said, "You promised to take us to the park today."

Last night I began painting our second floor hallway. Yes, it's on the list, but I've also discovered painting is the most effective way to clear my mind as I write my manuscript. Not only does it improve the look of my house, it also helps me calm my mind while developing plot lines and honing in on character voices. Confession...since starting this novel, I've painted the kitchen, living room, dining room, coat closet, master bathroom, laundry room, and now the hallway with plans to add a fresh coat to the stairwell.

I also realized yesterday, as I outlined the door frames, that the new paint I chose is nearly the exact shade as before. A creature of habit? Possibly. I suppose I'm just a bit resistant to change, like my son who cries when I make him throw out old toothbrushes or get new tennis shoes because the soles of his current ones are worn down to nothing.

I know my husband is going to look at my hard work only to tell me that it looks the same, cleaner and fresher, but exactly the same. Then I'll just have to inform him that I plan to write many novels, making plenty of opportunities for a fresh coat.

How Stephanie Plum Saved Me

Yesterday I bought Smokin' Seventeen, the latest novel in Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series, which I look forward to every summer. To say that these books are addictive is an understatement. I know there might be some readers who stopped delving into these several numbers ago, but I'm not one of them. I love both the characters and story lines. Besides, I credit Stephanie Plum, actually Janet Evanovich, for saving me once.

The year was 2004, and my husband was leaving for his first deployment to Iraq. During my teens and twenties, I lamented over turning thirty, as if it was a prospective dark day looming ahead of me. Yet never, in my wildest dreams, did I envision packing up my husband's belongings for a twelve month deployment, along with ensuring that our wills and finances were in order in case he didn't return. That was the winter when my three-year-old daughter ran out to her daddy's car, before he left to complete his training, hitting it repeatedly while screaming, "Don't go Daddy. Iraq is far!" I was crying, my husband was crying, she was sobbing, and our eighteen-month-old son was yelling for strawberry milk. Not a good day.

That was also the spring when four U.S. contractors were killed, set on fire, and hung from a bridge by insurgents. As Marines were battling in Fallujah, my husband traveled in a convoy from Kuwait to Balad, passing through Baghdad along the way. They were attacked by direct fire, the vehicle in front of him, hit. Luckily, no one was injured or killed. Not so lucky- daily rocket and mortar strikes pounded my husband's Base. Members of his Brigade didn't make it home. I couldn't sleep, had nightmares of officers knocking on my front door to deliver devastating news, developed canker sores the size of pencil head erasers, and almost smashed our computer monitor to smithereens when it ceased working. Yes, adult temper tantrums are permissible when the only source of communication between home and war is thwarted.

It was also during that spring when my mom suggested that I read One for the Money. I was skeptical at first, wondering how this particular book would keep me from hearing the voices at night that told me I'd soon be a widow. Eventually, I relented, because moms usually happen to know best. Within two months, I'd read the entire series, up to that point.

Stephanie Plum is a former lingerie buyer who, after losing her job, starts working as a bounty hunter for her sleazy, Cousin Vinnie. She's not very good at her job, but despite that, things always work out with the help of her hot, on-and-off again boyfriend, Joe Morelli, and the shady security expert, Ranger. FYI...it's one of the greatest and most addictive love triangles ever. Her best friend and sidekick is the hilarious, Lula, and her Grandma Mazur keeps things interesting as she lives for viewings at the funeral home.

Yes, Stephanie Plum's trials brought me through a really rough time. It introduced me to a world where a taxidermist skips to avoid jail because he doesn't want to miss the cable guy, women outsmart a pet crocodile with fried chicken, and Ranger is capable of making anyone swoon just by muttering, "Babe..." I've read the hilarious- Plum family dinners, the psychotic- Benito Ramirez, and the downright hysterical- Lula carrying bacon in her purse because she's trying out the Atkins Diet.

Thanks, Janet Evanovich, for the laughs, for saving me, and for making your yearly deadline so I have something fun to read. For a complete list of Janet Evanovich's books visit,
http://evanovich.com/

Now I guess only one question remains. Morelli or Ranger?