Southern Woman on the Skids

 Today was busy. We had a call with the finance guy. Bless him. I also dug in and built a website. The blog will now live in a sweet little house I built myself. www.hunnihoundbooks.com. It's a work in progress. Like my writing. And me clearly. But I got it done. And now people can hire me to write things for them. or about them. Or about their enemies. Which could be fun.  So here I am, sitting in front of a computer screen, asking strangers to hire me. Or just subscribe to the blog and read about my weed garden. Both are good. Tomorrow more about Heather.

  Today was a good day. It was a day that I thought maybe not much would get done, and then things did get done. We sort of just went with the current today. It was nice. There is so much tending that needs done in this stage of my life. Tending to a new marriage, aging parents, friends with aging parents, kids, more kids, very small kids. And me. I was watching my birds and weed flowers this morning and thinking I was happy. I was content. I wanted a wild lovely garden, Intended it how I could, and it bloomed for me. I didn’t hire anyone to design something manicured, my family helped some and I did some. and it’s grown to be just wild enough and so beautiful. It’s the perfect garden for me. So Insat on the swing and thought I think we can do a few things. I asked for a little help. Some things didn’t get too far, some things got further. But we ended the day with a tended to house, and spending some sweet time with the kids.  I know my garden will change, some flowers will die, some

  I have gotten to where I write these later and later in the day. I have to shuffle through my moments to try and find a memory or a moment that might be interesting to mull over again and again. So today I will talk about pies. I love pie. It’s something that Inalways wanted to master, like gardening or being well groomed. For a while I got pretty good and somewhat pudgy. But I put the pies away. I was busy doing other things like falling in love and cultivating weeds and writing books. But today while Charlie sat on the floor reading Weldon a book, I saw a recipe for pie and I got nostalgic for it. I am still pudgy, but my husband likes it that way, so perhaps pies need to make a comeback. What a nice writing discipline. If I get a chapter done, I will make the crust. Next chapter, filling. Then, at the end of the day, after all my hard work I have a delicious treat to celebrate.  I also have started working on building a dollhouse. But they don’t taste as good.  So pie it is.

  I am twelve pages into writing my new spooky middle grade, so I went to the library with Welles today to hunt for some comparable books. I got to talking with the children's librarian while I was there. She is wonderful, and we always share hellos when I run in with Charlie. She laughs at me as I walk up and down the stacks, oohing and ahhing at all the books I want to read Charlie or simply reread myself.  So there we are in the children's section, Welles fussing in my arms. She was standing there with a stack of haunted house books for me, and we got to talking about writing.  “Oh, I'm not a writer.” She shook her head. “Listen,” I said, “You are surrounded by all these books! You read all these books!  You must be a writer!” “No, really,” she said. “I'm a reader. Writing doesn't excite me like it does you.”  That stuck with me. Because imposter syndrome is real, I kind of feel silly when I say I am a writer. I don’t make money writing. I have never had anything

  I love mornings. I wake up with the baby, have coffee, write, check the porch to see what the cat dragged in. It’s lovely really.  But today I woke up feeling dizzy. That happens to me. I don’t think I have a brain tumor. I think I have weird ears that like to mess with me. My dad has it too. I remember days when he would stumble and curse and tell mom how dizzy he felt and how miserable it was. So, I have dizzy days too now. And it’s disorienting and stressful. On dizzy days, I can see all my activity in a trail behind me. Open cabinets and drawers, food prep still layed out, it’s like a tornado has been through the house. I am so focused on whatever activity that I am doing, but my brain won’t let me do it quite right. I’m too focused on trying to balance and succeed at my objective, that little things like shutting cabinet doors are of less consequence. It’s wearing. It makes me exhausted physically and emotionally. And then it fades and I can breathe again.  I guess sometimes my

I am on to the next book while the first is passed around from husband to kid to friend to neighbor to editor. And this next one is scary. I mean scary to my twelve year old self, who is the only one who really matters at this point. I started it last night and woke up with all the ideas. I decided to just pile it on. Put everything in there. All the things I want. Old somewhat creepy house? Check. Hidden old cemetery in the backyard? Check. Secret passageway uncovered by your heroine? Check. Stray dog rescued from under the porch? Check. I keep wanting to apologize to my poor 13 year old main character for what she’s about to go through. But then I think, I wanna be in a creepy old house with a secret passageway and a dog. And I keep writing.  And it’s getting creepy. And I wonder where it’s going to go. And if there will be a happy ending. Or not.

  The summer can be strange. Days bleed together. You sleep in but feel still drained and sleepy all day. It’s generally hot and muggy so you stay in but try to avoid watching too much TV. It’s like an alternate universe with no real foundation. But then there are those days when everything sort of falls into place. The weather is right, the baby naps perfectly, and your sister calls to say she’s buying groceries to grill out. Then, by some summertime alternate universe miracle, you find a never opened Slip n Slide in the garage. So the gang all comes over. You have that “school’s out” excitement you felt as a kid. The house is clean. The kids are happy to play together, your son and your sister talk business so you and your husband don't have to. It’s perfect. Then we pack it in, clean up the mess and have movie night. Not every summer day will be like this, but some will. And I will savor every moment. 

  My sister turned fifty years old this week so I thought I would share some fascinating facts about Heather.  She has seen Poltergeist ninety times. Poltergeist was our It’s a Wonderful Life. It brought our family together. When we arrived at Walt Disney World one year, what was the first thing we did after the long ride? Curl up with cookies and Poltergeist of course. She attended sixty concerts in high school. Many alongside my dad. Poison, Cinderella, Neil Diamond, you name the band, she’s probably seen them.  When she was in high school, her Toyota Celica had a pile of tapes so high in the front passenger seat, My knees touched my chin anytime I rode shotgun.  Heather has an unheard of vocal range. I was so jealous. She has an amazing gift that she rarely shares. I remember all these professors coming to hear her range at one of her vocal lessons.  She’s smart. Scary smart. Like should be leading a criminal organization smart. Or maybe she is, and you just don’t know it. In high s

  I finished. After five years it’s done. But not really. I have gone back to my manuscript about thirty times since Rob finished it. I added scenes. Made the dark moments darker and clarified so things. I’m starting to realize, it will never be done.  I will be tweaking this book for the rest of my life. Whether it gets published or not. Charlie is already planning the sequel. Zig is planning the Netflix deal. Rob tells me he is proud of me no matter what happens with this little book.  And I know he is right.  Of course I will still tweak and edit and send it out to all my favorite literary agents hoping and praying they love it. And silently bitching to myself when some of them don’t. I won’t be satisfied just putting it on my shelf.  My characters had to finish their adventure, so I will keep on with mine. 

 I finished my book. I finished it. Which means that there will be another month or two of rewrites and tweaking. But the story is there. And I am so proud. I have been writing this book for five years. The characters have been through hell and back with me. I would love for it to see the light of day and sit proudly in a shelf at my local bookshop, but even if it never makes it that far. I wrote a book. I think my mom would be proud.

  Today was kind of a blur. Welles is going through a sleep regression and it has us a little boggled. So we are just going through the daily motions a bit. Rob takes one shift and I take another. Then we sneak in naps where we can. We managed to play a board game with Charlie and Zig was in and out working and seeing friends. Days like this I feel sort of useless. I don’t get much done. I don’t feel like I am doing any real guiding of my children’s lives. But I know there must be something underneath these days. I know it will go so fast. But what do I savor. The fact that Rob and I carry one another through it.  The moments when Charlie is curled up doing math, and I am cooking. Hearing Rob sing to Charlie and Welles. Those are all nice moments.  I also got to curl up in our bed, half awake and half still asleep. For those precious minutes of the baby’s nap. Rob and I laid in bed dozing and listening to the rain outside. I’ll take that moment for today.

  Today I managed to really focus on revising some of my middle grade manuscript. Poor book. The characters had been left in a room without much explanation. They were not happy.  “Can you please just answer these questions?!” “She can’t. Can’t you see she doesn’t know what the hell is going on! She’s just gonna leave us here, in this underground treehouse for the rest of eternity!” “Oh for God's sake get a grip, Ellery.”  “What did you say?” “Listen. Give her a chance and can you please put that cigarette out? For God sakes we are supposed to be twelve!” “Can you people just settle down? She’s here now and she is trying to answer all of your questions if you could just…” “Shut it squirrel. Go eat another acorn cake.” You get the picture. I finally regained some control. But it wasn’t easy. And I can’t leave them like that again or they will blow up my computer and burn my house down.  If you happened to hear of my house burning down, it’s my character’s fault.  No. No, it's mi

  Today we let Rob sleep in a bit but the kids were waiting for him when he woke with homemade gifts. We had a perfect day of rest. We watched movies and ate takeout and spent time with him. We are so grateful to have his sweet soul in our lives. He has taught me what is really important. He is always there with a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on when times are complicated. He makes me laugh till I can’t breathe. Which is impressive. I am pretty funny. It’s hard to make me laugh. But he manages to do it daily. He deals with a complex teenager, a dramatic tween and a new baby with grace and energy. Rob teaches in a highly challenging environment with misunderstood children that have serious needs and he lifts them up as well as his co workers.  My kids and I needed Rob more than we ever realized.  As I sit writing this, I am laid out on the couch with some kind of bug. Rob has chased me around all day trying to take care of me, on his special day.  “Today is your day!” I kept tellin

Today the kids and I left Rob home to study and spent the day with my father. We visited mom first. Ziggy was first through the door and she lit up when she saw him. Charlie pushed the baby smiling politely at the residents and we sat in mom’s room for a bit. “That’s the prettiest baby I have ever seen.” My mom smiled at Weldon who smiled back, flashing her two new teeth.  We gave her hugs, showed off Weldon and made a few jokes before heading out to do some shopping with dad. I always tell the kids about getting dropped off by my parents at the mall and wandering around with my friends. So I thought, how fun! I can take dad and the kids to the mall and dad can shop for mom while the kids and I grab a Father’s Day gift for Rob!  I haven’t set foot in a mall in about fifteen years. Things have changed. The mall felt like it had been through the apocalypse. Fluorescent lights flickered over the stained carpet. Scant piles of mismatched clothes were displayed in clumps. Everyone looked mi

  In my journey to be a legit writer, I have been to conferences and workshops and taken loads of classes. Only one really made a lasting impression. I was taking my first stab at trying to actually get published and I enrolled myself in a class called Write. Submit. Support. The teacher was an published and talented author /illustrator, Jessixa Bagley. We were quite a cast of characters but the other women were, in fact, writers. One, a science writer that was highly respected in her field. She also had a handful of pet rats that she would perch on her shoulder during the zoom class. Another a published and lauded graphic novelist. Another, a published writer that had a laser focus and the most intense work ethic of anyone I have ever met. I remember thinking, If I was an agent, I would sign this woman immediately. She had no fear and no sentimentality with what she wrote, to her it was a science and a business. All of my classmates were talented and driven. Working to balance childre

  Dear agent or editor,  I am a writer. I have always been a writer. when I was six I wrote (and illustrated!) a lovely story about a worm traveling from the countryside to the big city. It was a smash hit in our house and even made it into the “Save This” file! I advanced in years as children do, and would visit the mall with friends where I, said writer, would drag my dear friend to the bookstore, purchase a book, and promptly find a mannequin stand (is that what those are called?) where I would sit and read for the next hour while my poor lonely friend would peruse the perfume section. (Sorry, Maggie.) Then came puberty. And the diaries. Senseless ramblings, bad poetry, tear stained pages bemoaning the unrighteousness of boys (Rob is mentioned a few times in my “College Years” volumes.) After that there is a period of darkness. Until I landed my agent! Then came the days of the beautiful rejections. Page after page from the likes of all the BEST publishing houses, Simon and Schuster

  I am far from perfect. Fatally flawed. My mom wasn’t perfect either. She knew that and taught me that our flaws were our personal battles to face. She was always telling me to just live my life and try to make the right decisions and be a good person. Don’t take it all too seriously. She saw what was around the corner for her and did not want us to waste a precious second of our lives worrying or fussing about her. But daughters love their mamas. And they want to care for them the way they were cared for. Daughters want to do even better than their own mamas did for them. So we pile on. We take on the load and try to help carry it for them. Now that my mom has turned that corner, I feel like my focus has shifted to my dad. Making sure that he is held and cared for. But my dad is not sentimental. He lets us know when he needs care from his daughters, but more and more he is carrying that load for us. As any good parent will.  I know I have my own demons. So I try to be transparent abo

  Summer is always a frenzy. I always forget this, imagining lazy days smiling on the porch swing while the kids run through the sprinkler and Rob grills. Those days happen, but mostly it’s running up and down stairs. That’s summer. Laundry? Run it upstairs. Run dirty downstairs. Baby tired? Run her upstairs for nap. Run her downstairs when she’s up. Charlie upset about stepping on a lego? Run upstairs. You get the idea. So summer sort of melts into the rest of the year. Except there is move action in the stairs since the kids are home. Except. Except Rob is here. And he is this crazy awesome hands on dad. So, it’s not just me on the proverbial stairs. So I get time. Sweet precious time. Yesterday he sat with Welles on the porch for an hour while I lost myself in my manuscript. It’s the most active writing and revising time I have had all year. Thanks to Rob.  So today, I think I’ll sit on the porch swing and smile. And write. And make the kids come to me. Downstairs.

  On our street growing up, there were three families. The Rhodes, The Whites, and us. Mrs. White was the Martha Stewart of Cheatham Hill Rd. Her house was a perfect mix of Williamsburg colonial and Better Homes and Gardens. If we had dinner there, we knew it would be on nice plates, and we knew it would be good. Their house was always very quiet. And it smelled lovely, probably because we didn’t play there much. Mr. White was a doctor like my dad. I know he went to Yale, which according to my mom at the time, was impressive and meant he was very smart. But he didn't act like it. He was funny and approachable and mumbled a little like my dad. So it put me at ease.  If Anna Kate was like our sister, then Rosalind White was the Godfather of the group. We were her minions. I take that back. I was the minion, but Rosalind was the clear leader of our little gang. She was the oldest, two years older than my sister and a year older than Anna Kate, and she had a quiet older brother, Rodger

  I’m grumpy but I don’t really have a reason. I’m tired. Vacation is over. Rob had to drive us back home in pouring rain. We went from a cool fresh 60 degrees to a muggy stagnant 87. Ok, maybe I do have reason to be grumpy.  On the up side, the kids helped clean out the car. Weldon was happy to be reunited with her little plastic baby friend. Charlie couldn’t watch TV so busied herself sewing a summer collection for her Barbie. Honestly, the dresses are really cute. Sassy but simple. Very “Charlie” but surprisingly sophisticated for an eleven year old. I came into her little sewing room to find her bent over the tiny frock, brow furrowed and fingers nimbly tightening stitches.  Ziggy’s cloud is lifting. That heavy dark cloud that we know shifts with his weather but when it lifts, and his sun shines, it warms the whole house. He helped Rob and I clean up after our family dinner. Gently telling me to go, they would pick up. “Go nap mom. We can do this.” That’s my boy. I see Rob in him a

  Over the week I have tried to spend some extra time with my Charlie girl. She just turned 11 and even though right now she is still a child through and through, the changes will be here in a flash. We walked around town, Both of us with whatever was easiest to throw on and comfy, her hair in a very messy ponytail and me with spit up on my shirt and mom sneakers.  We pushed Weldon through busy sidewalks and across a park where a very fancy car show was taking place. Poor Charlie lifted the stroller up and down three separate flights stairs for me while “gentleman” pushed past her in 400 dollar shirts without even glancing at us, certainly not willing to help. Rob, who was not with us, would have been mortified.  After all this, we managed to make it to the doorstep of the little used bookstore in town where we both breathed a sigh of relief. Bookstores are to us what those old taverns along various travel routes were to the weary travelers of yesteryear. Respite. The man behind the co

  Today was a  long and eventful day. I told Rob to take the whole day to rest. I would take the kids out and about and force him to stay behind to sleep or play guitar or just stare at the river. He deserved that after his first year of teaching and being such an amazing partner with the kids. Unfortunately, Welles wanted to get an early start. A five AM start. No one should be up at five AM. Especially someone who is spending the day with a teenager, a tween girl and a baby. But, there we were loaded into the van headed to Cashiers NC for the day.  They needed to hear some things. They needed a come to Jesus moment. Don’t get me wrong. I understand that kids will be kids. They groan and gripe. Smiling and skipping ahead on the trail one moment, then crying, head thrown back and moaning that they want to go home. Ok, that’s clearly the tween.  But no. Just no. Enough gets to be enough. I support and hug and encourage. I am an attentive and understanding parent. I am doing a collaborat

  Rob and I have figured something out. We have to get up very early. Welles wakes for the day at 6:30. So if we time it just right, we can slip away for some quiet time. Welles is perfectly content tagging along with us, and the big kids are still sleeping. So we sneak away and grab a coffee and sit and catch up.  I felt guilty the first time we snuck off to have breakfast. But then I didn’t. The kids will have plenty of us during the rest of the day. They will get their chance to complain or drag us into a store to see something they HAVE to have or roll their eyes. But in those early hours we will sit in the cool morning sipping our overpriced coffee and enjoy the quiet. We will take deep breaths and talk about the kids. We will sort through the things we worry about or what is going well. We will smile at Welles and enjoy the ease of her smallness. And then we will go back and hold the big ones a little tighter. 

  Today's post is late because of endless family development. We started the day at a restaurant, realized the kids were going to spin out if we had to wait too long, so we had to pivot.  We found a little place that had a mountain slide. If you aren’t familiar, prepare yourself. You ride a conveyor belt up the mountain and then a young man dips your tube in soapy water (you read that right) and pushes you down the mountain. Charlie had some reservations. But one of our homeschool challenges is to face fears head on, and together. So, down we went. It was a riot. We basically had the mountain to ourselves and the rush of sliding down a mountainside knocked out most of Ziggy’s angsty gripes and Charlie was so proud of herself she mostly beamed.  Then it was on to the gem mine.  Rob and I had been on our earlier trip and thought it would be fun for the kids. It went better than I could have imagined. We were presented with three large seemingly dull buckets of sand. They shoveled and

  Yesterday was Charlie’s eleventh birthday. My sweet stubborn silly girl has had a hell of a year. She has faced down some hard childhood realities. She lost some friends and gained some new ones and she made some complicated decisions about the future.  I still know eleven year old Megan so well. I feel her inside pleading with Charlie that all will be okay. When I was her age I had a lot of the same looming monsters creeping about in my mind. Anxiety and the confusion of crossing that difficult threshold from childhood into something else. The Land of Not Quite.  Not quite old enough. Not quite mature enough. Not quite a child anymore. I hated the Land of Not Quite.  I can see Charlie trying to navigate its stormy seas. Finding ways to trust. Discovering who her allies will be, and who to cut loose. Maneuvering the new little self she is growing into. It’s so hard. And it hurts. It hurts to realize there is no stopping time.  I do my best to comfort her with hope. Bright shining hop

  A while back I read a book called The Big House by George Howe Colt. I always wanted to have a place. A place that would have the smell of seasons. A place that would nestle into my children’s memories and be an heirloom for all of us.  For a brief time my family had a house in Jekyll Island, Georgia. My mama’s brother has a house there, so my mama's whole family spent Thanksgiving, all on the same street, riding bikes and walking on Driftwood Beach. When mom was fading, it was too hard for my Dad to go down to the Jekyll house. Too many memories, he said, so the house was sold.  Rob and I visited a little mountain town for our honeymoon. The trip was months after our actual wedding so at the time I was newly pregnant and had awful morning sickness. But the town made an impression. So we knew we needed to share it with the kids. Charlie's eleventh birthday is this week, so it seemed the perfect place to celebrate. I searched online and came across a little cabin. It sits on t

  Today we are driving to the mountains for a week. Rob and I hate the heat, so we find the coolest place we can go that is the closest possible drive, and that’s where we vacation. Thankfully, the place that is cool and close is also ridiculously beautiful and has amazing food. So this morning, while I ran in circles picking up and setting down unnecessary items, Rob neatly packed the car and all our necessities and got the kids loaded up. I have told them that this will be a week of books and campfires and good food. We want to unplug them as much as we can. Hell, I want to unplug as much as I can. But all the things are spinning in my head. Will they be bored? Will they have fun? What if they hate it? What if they fight?  And I know, who cares? They are kids. It’s the mountains. Go outside and breathe. Clearly, good advice for me too.

  Tomorrow we head off for the mountains for our summer week away, but this morning while I sit watching Welles inspect her toys and scuttle about, I will improvise a picture book text. There is a UK competition that calls for a five hundred word manuscript and all of mine are too long. So I will sit and have my coffee and BS my way through something in the hopes it may become something better. Sounds familiar. Egg was a bit befuddled. She had been chattering away with her fellow eggs happily in their feathered nest before bedtime, But this morning they were gone.  All of them.  Mr. White. Gone. One Crack. Vanished. Harriett. Well, Egg was a bit glad Harriet was gone.  Egg sat for a moment.  Perhaps I have missed something? I will ask Samson.  Samson Spider was known to be the fellow that saw everything in the little coop.  He was in fact the only other in the coop. So, Egg decided he must know.  “Samson?  Samson slid down on a thread of web.  “Where have the other Eggs of Nest gone?”