(I made it myself!)

I find myself feeling more stable of late, physically, mentally and emotionally. Input and output have reached a new level of balance. A resulting side-effect is that I feel less passionate about certain things, but considering that my passion often lacked the maturity necessary to evaluate itself, I judge it acceptable.

Everything has an opportunity cost, a price in time and energy. Knowing this is important. And while being able to "pause the game" while you consider what to do next, racing against that ticking clock can also be exciting.

The query cycle is underway. In the month since Interphase was completed, we have now received 4 rejections from prospective literary agents. We still have a long list to work through, and time to get our printer up and running. We're starting to learn that this whole writing-and-selling-books business is unbelievably subjective, i.e. it mostly comes down to a matter of opinion. This can be frustrating for a first-time author, but now is the time for belief and persistence.

Belief that others will get enjoyment from the stories we have to tell...

Persistence in getting those stories heard...

It's hard work, with more emphasis on the 'work' part than I imagined in my younger days. But there's no better day job out there.

At least for me.

It seems that no matter where you look today, people are taking time out of their days just to be cruel to others, people they don't know and will probably never meet. Have we become so mean-spirited in this revolution of free speech, or is it we were always this way, and said revolution coupled with anonymity just brought it to the fore?

I don't know, but either way it's terrible. I see it all the time, especially when I'm not looking for it. It feels like a punch in the heart every time, and it makes me so sad. I would cry a river of tears if I thought it would soften some of those stone hearts.

Memory flash while on a break at work. It was either 10th or 11th grade in highschool when I had a singularly bad day, a rarity for me, thank goodness. Having lots of keychains on your backpack was popular at that stage of my childhood, particularly ones from Claire's with cutsy sayings on them. Well, on this singularly bad day, some little viper stole all of my keychains while I was in the bathroom. I know there was more un-fun stuff that happened (I think I had a show choir recital--those always terrified me--and I forgot some of my lyrics), but I remember that in particular as the "straw that broke the camel's back" event that sent me home crying that day.

I am very glad I'm not in highschool anymore.

I get that message after a website I have open has been inactive for a certain period of time. With how fractured my day can become, juggling various activities and phonecalls and follow-ups, the message tends to appear a lot.

Should have worked on an edit session yesterday but found myself re-reading Riftwar Saga instead. I felt happier for it, though once I took a break I found myself puzzling over WHY I was so reluctant to start the edit.

I'm used to doing what I want, when I want. It's the way I trained myself to be, and I have a nasty tendency to be petulent and sulky when my wants are denied me. Very childish behavior, I freely admit. So I decided to work extra hard on watching that from now on. Sometimes it's hard for me to stay focused. My attention will fray at the edges, or I'll just get bored. It always impresses me, the way Storm can devote laser-focus to whatever task is in front of him, while still maintaining enough peripheral perception to know what's going on around him. He inspires me in many ways every day.

So! Edit pass today. Yay!

As is my wont, I've been doing a bit of thinking this past week. It occured to me that once the book goes to print, however long that takes, that people may want to check out the authors' blogs/websites/whatnot. At first I planned to create a new livejournal to represent the persona of Kira Wilson, the author, a carefully controlled and maintained public image.

Yeah... I was rather disgusted with myself after I thought about it some more.

This livejournal is old. I began it just after I got out of high school, back when I was still dipping my toe in the water of adult life. It's often been rambling, directionless. A good representation of its author, actually. I've spent a lot of life seesawing between passions and commitments, always tentative of making misteps or missing opportunities. Now that I've settled on the direction on where I'd like things to go, who would want to go back to those fitful days of shooting blindly from the hip, in words and in life?

Well, naturally I don't. But am I really so ashamed of my past that I'd like to cover it up and pretend that I've always been "with it"? That I've always been who I am now?

*pats self on head* C'mon, darlin', you know better than that.

Besides, everything that I've ever done here to date is ALREADY public knowledge. Trying to hide it now, to separate it from myself, is impossible. So why not just fling the doors wide open and say, "Yup, this was me"?

I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or even 5 minutes from now. I know what I HOPE will happen and am making plans on how to get there, but life has a way of surprising you, and I thank God for that. But at 25, I'm just rolling up my sleeves to get started. I've made mistakes along the way, but it's all led up to this. And who knows? Maybe someone somewhere can find advice or comfort in some random little thought I had on a day far in the past.

If so, then I'm glad to have been of service.

"Dear LJ,

Sorry I haven't updated in like a billion years..."

...but I have been busy. Very busy. Busier and more fulfilled than I ever have been. Why? Because the first book is done.

Jon and I started writing it a year ago. Before that, we had spent about a year and a half planning and discussing it. And now, it is done.

This is huge. I know me. I mean... I don't finish things! I get excited about an idea, play with it, throw myself into it and then... nothing. I lose it somewhere, or get distracted by a new idea. That's been my MO for years. But this time, I wasn't by myself. I had my husband to cheer me on and keep me going, while I did the same for him when needed. We supported each other throughout the whole process. And boy, did we learn lots! About writing, about each other, a bit about life in general.

And we never gave up. It's finished. The hard part is over.

So what are we going to do now?

We're going to take a little break, relax, goof off a bit, and then get to work on the next one. Because the hard part is over.

"When two hearts race, both win."

Found on a milk chocolate Dove wrapper at work.

Yvette: What is Ron Mazler doing in Joanne Corwin?

Me: *head hits desk, smothering giggles!*

Okay, so the way that sounds is completely NOT what she meant... but did that stop my giggle-fest? Oh no way!

I love Fridays.

WHEEEEE EARTHQUAKE!!!

Time to think. Not speak.

Time to do. Not think.

Time to be. Not do.

Time...

...is there ever enough time?

It's been a bizarre experience getting to know my father as an equal, as an adult. I remember vividly what it was like to be young and interacting with him. He astounded, confused, terrified and left me in awe of him by turns. For the longest time, I wanted nothing to do with him, wanted to pretend he never existed to save myself the pain of missing him after all he had done.

Then one day, I became an adult. So has he. Now I'm not afraid of him anymore. Sometimes I still think he's nuts (because he is), and I now have the confidence in myself to tell him exactly that. I think he finally understands that I'm not his little girl, that I never was, that he was never really "Dad", and that there are boundaries now. But they are the natural boundaries that exist between adults that respect each other. We choose how close we let each other in and how much we can share. It's a unique situation, but one that seems to suit us nicely.

What's even more bizarre is rediscovering the man who WAS my father growing up. After my papa got sick, and I got married, somewhere along the line he stopped being The Adult in my eyes. I began asking him questions that would have never occured to me as a kid. Sometimes the answers surprised me, but not as much as I might have expected. I'm getting to know the man behind my grandfather, who he was, and still is, before I ever even entered the picture. He's the kind of person who doesn't deserve the lot in life he's been given, but you'll never hear him complain about it. He has memories, not regrets. He has experience, but he'll never hang it over your head.

So my dad has become an adult. And my father has become a human being.

If this is all so strange to me, I can only imagine what it must be like for them.

I really really REALLY love some of my boss's clients.

So Judy calls while he's on the phone, and I ask what number he can call her back at when he's free. She gives me something like 845-8451 (obviously I'm not posting her REAL number!) and the following exchange occurs...

Me: Wow, that's easy to remember.

Judy: Well, I have dumb friends so I need to keep things simple.

Retirees with a sense of humor ROCK!

So this has been my birthday mantra ever since I turned 18: "Holy crap, I'm (insert age here)?! I'm not old enough to be (insert age here)!!" And it rolled over me yesterday too. Seriously though, it doesn't matter that my molecular infrastructure is now projecting 24 against the DNA's digital clock. My birthday's true purpose is to remind me just how utterly fantastic the man I married is.

Step 1: Early lunch at Claim Jumpers. Never get tired of that place, its sheet-metal bar, or the cheesy potatocakes. And who needs cake when chocolate chip calzone exists?

Step 2: Surprise movie! He had me close my eyes and plug my ears while he grabbed tickets for Juno. I had been harboring a sekrit desire to go see this ever since the previews, but didn't want to drag Storm to see a chick-flick. So what does he go and do? Effectively drags HIMSELF to it, all sly-grinning and adorable. The movie itself was good too, a chick-flick that plays least like a chick-flick, if that makes any sense.

Step 3: Even MORE movies! Toddle off to Hollywood Video to stock up for post-raiding viewage. We've already watched Enchanted (unabashed sweet and only mildly nauseating), 12 Angry Men (1958 black-and-white version of Runaway Jury that blows most modern cinema into tiny chunks), and Shaun of the Dead (dammit why does Britain get all the best actors!). Still to come is I Am Legend and Ratatouille, the latter Storm actually bought.

Step 4: Zombie headhumper smashing! Storm and I have been playing through Half Life 2, and by playing I mean I let him handle all the controlling while I read the role of 'rapt spectator' munching on Starburst jellybeans and screaming at him to watch out for the friggin' snipers! I need never wonder again what it's like to be smack-dap in the middle of a post-apocalyptic movie. Driving swamp mobiles while helicoptors with rail guns are shooting at you, oh hellz yeah!

Step 5: ERROR! ACCESS DENIED TO RESTRICTED FILES. TIME TO FIND A NEW HOBBY, CLYDE.

Lots of pretty and impressive words dancing in my head
Trying to nail thoughts down, pin them like butterflies:
Paragon of fools, the long promise...
A dizzy mind making itself dizzier with every turn of the wind
This feeling of constantly running toward a goal that is only a perceived ideal, a borrowed or stolen dream
It will disappear once its meager fuel is exhausted
The tense gut, the electric ripple up my back, the shot of adrenalin fear
I set my feet upon the quicksand when it looks fresh as grass
Make my heart your stone to pave my way through shadows
We do not rhymn anymore, so I cannot be a poet
Only a soul searching for a light to fathom by

Nor is the alien dead!

...oops...

Well, blah. That's what you get when your social life exists on TeamSpeak.

There is a section of the freeway on my way to work that I love passing through every day. It's just before my exit. The angle of the freeway and the air currents align, and you can hear the wind blowing. I used to hear that all the time growing up, that deep yet hollow sound, like a cry from far away. It seems to accentuate, even embody, aloneness, playing all the emotions that accompany 'alone' like harp strings.

A touch of music in the morning commute.

Why do you make things so complicated? Because you still make too many assumptions. You don't look at the whole of the situation before making judgment calls, don't ask yourself if your conclusion makes sense before plowing on with your decisions.

You keep trying to move too fast, as if the world is going to leave you behind unless you make lightning-quick choices. You cling too tightly to intuition, thinking that somehow your little inner voice is the authority on truth blinded from your sight. Assuming that your first impression is always right is just as dangerous as assuming that you're always wrong. Assuming of any kind is a bad idea.

Learn to slow down. Take information a little bit at a time, think about how complex systems all fit together. And above all else, do NOT allow yourself to get flustered. Your ability to be rational drops to zero when that happens.

You are your own person. You will work best if you move at your own pace without putting so much undue pressure on yourself. Remember, you've already figured out that there is nothing wrong with you. So just slow down.

Remember Atrus. His experiments in the desert. The dunes in the wind.

You have a sound mind. All you have to do now is learn to use it properly. That's all.

My first child, boy or girl, is going to be nicknamed Wombat. And if he/she doesn't like it, then I'll take it, because it's a funny word.

I spent part of the morning talking things over with Jia. She's going to be fun to work with. She had some really good insights into her own personality, knowing who and what she is and why she chose to be that way. And she had stuff to say about Wes, as only a sister can.

Wes is Storm in his maladjusted years, without so much self-loathing angst. Xeis remains something of a mystery for now. So many different places to take her, so many different ways to push and stretch her around. Whatever form she does take though, she is unmistakably me.

Acceptance of all things is required.

This is not a casual acceptance, not a flippant acknowledgement, but a conscious effect to see all things, triumphs and mistakes, as they truly are. One cannot hope to live a full and complete life if one is so weighed down by guilt and pride, which are little more than delusions, lies.

Acceptance is never given lightly; it is made with both eyes open and both feet firmly planted.

If one wishes to be complete, to be themself, everything must be accepted. Not necessarily loved, but accepted. Acknowledged for its part inside the whole.

I must accept my own flaws for what they are. And what are they? Natural errors. A tangible declaration that I am merely human. Becoming self-actualized will never allow me to be perfect. Becoming perfect is NOT the goal, can never be. Being all that I have the potential of being...that is the ultimate goal. Deciding to pursue my dreams, to stand up for my beliefs, to no longer be afraid of failure.

All of this can only happen with a full pardon. That is where it begins. That is the first step, the greatest choice. But it must be what I wish. The only motivation that will make this choice valid is if I choose, out of love for myself, and for the one who created me.

And for every mistake I make, acceptance must come and come again. Every time.

Will I be afraid? Will I ever doubt? The capacity always remains.

Can I choose to stop accepting? Yes, because it is a choice. My choice.