In Like a Lion, Out Like A Griffin

Ever since my youth, I've heard the phrase, In like a lion and out like a lamb, used to describe March's weather. Ah hem. (That was me clearing my throat incase you missed it.)I have a bone to pick with the universe.

March is done. Finished. Over. Where's the lamb?

It's not here. Not today. Not for me. Here we have something like, In like a lion out like a griffin. Why do I say this? It's simple and involves little white flakes falling from the perpetually gray sky. Didn't it used to be blue? Before the winter came and sucked the color from the world?

Is it not enough that we have nine months of frozen, snow-filled torure, followed closely by the shortest spring ever? It's in April. I'm not sure which day, but it only lasts for about six hours. If it happens during the night, too bad, you missed it.

Then we have three months of summer. Hot, dry, summer. Did I mention it was hot? And dry?

Then on to fall. It lasts a little longer than spring. Maybe two or three days then, WHAM. Winter.

All in all, my favorite seasons are fall and sring. Yeah, I know. Bad choices, huh? But they're warm.

They are followed by summer, but never, ever winter. No, not ever.

I hate the cold. It nipps through my flesh and gnaws at my bones. It never gets enough either. It just keeps chewing. Devouring me piece by peice until the sun finally returns and banishes it for a few short months.

So, why? Why can't I have the lamb? Just one fluffy, WARM lamb? I'd create a nice spot for it in the back yard. Give it the best food, let it eat my flowers.(But not my pea plants. Devotion can only go so far.) Get it toys. And no, I don't know what kind of toys lambs like, but I'd find out. Fast. Because I would love the lamb. And Little Fluffy (The lamb. Yes, I named it.) would keep it spring. Forever. Sigh of bliss.

But, no. I'm stuck with the hungry griffin. I think he's in league with the groundhog. They're close. And evil. And I'm sick of them. Bring on the lamb!

Ten Followers, Puzzles, and Writing

My blog is still pretty new. If it were a human, it wouldn't be walking yet, just slobbering all over everything and sucking on bottles. You know, crying and waking up every two hours, messy pants, the works. So even though this sounds a little pathetic, I now have ten followers. Woot woot! Can you hear the crowd cheering? And yes, ten people can be a crowd. Really they can.

My goal right now is to double my followers in the next eon of time. If anyone out there is reading this and wants to help me with my goal, that would be fabulous. No pressure though. If you really want me to wallow in self pity because I never reach my lofty goal that's good, too. :)

Now on to puzzles and writing. My family has been on a puzzle streak. I'm talking everyone. Puzzles everywhere. Big ones, small ones, medium ones, floor puzzles. The works. I guess that's what happens when you unplug the TV for a month because of remodeling. After a while the fam starts doing other things. Weird huh?

But anyway, I sat in front of a 1000 piecer last night. I had sections done, but big holes left gaps in the emerging picture.



Even with the holes, it was exciting. And daunting. What started out as this



will one day, if I keep working at it, become a beautiful picture. It just takes some know how, dedication, time, and lots of work.

As I sat there, staring at the bright colored bits, I thought, This is my novel. It all started with one piece. One shiny, glittery idea, and through a little know how, dedication, time, and lots of work a picture emerged. It still has some holes, but the parts are all there. I just have to stick with it and find where they fit.

Sure it's discouraging sometimes. Working away at a 90,000 word puzzle, is hard, but I'm not alone. My hubby supports me. And I have great writer friends who give me gentle, ego-bruising nudges in the right direction. Thanks guys! And with each nudge a piece falls into place.

One day my picture will be complete. One day it will live. And then I will do the happy dance.

Does anyone have a metaphorical puzzle they're working on? Drop a comment and let me know. Thanks.

Mysterious posts, facing my house, and who's out there anyway?

My last post was awesome. If you missed it, check it out. It's short. I'm not sure how it came about, but I decided to leave it. It's not often I can express myself in so few words. He he.

Anyway, I have to go to war. I'm scared, I'm outnumbered, and I don't have very good battle armor. On top of that,I don't have any grenades or other explosive devices. I don't even get a gun or camouflage. Just a rag and a vacuum. My enemy, the messy house, might win.

It's a bad situation. The laundry and the dishes formed a pact with the trash and together they annexed the main floor. We've been forced to retreat to the upper floor, because the basement is landmined with saws, paint, and Sheetrock.

At first we thought we could regroup and fight our way free, but then the bedding and dirty toilets fell to the dark side, and we are now barricaded in the closet. It doesn't look good.

I'm trying to negotiate our surrender, but I'm a little afraid we'll be assimilated. I keep hearing the words, "Resistance is futile."

Inside I almost agree.

But I will fight on! Never give up! Never surrender! The line must be drawn here. Today. In the drywall dust. I will not go down without a fight.

But who will care for my little ones if I am gunned down by dust bunnies? The fate of their (my children not the dust bunnies) lives is in my paint-speckled hands.

Wish me well. I go now to face the dreaded shower armed only with a Magic Eraser and Elbow grease.

And on a final note, if you're out there reading this, drop a comment. Today is not the day to lurk in cyber-space. I might not live through this battle to post again, and I don't want to die without knowing who's reading my final words.

A

I have the Keys To The Demon Prison

I have the Keys To The Demon Prison. For those of you who don't know what that is, it is the new release by best selling author, Brandon Mull. The book is the much awaited fifth instalment of the Fablehaven series. Wahoo!



I got quite a kick out of calling people today to tell them I have it. Something happens when you start a conversation with this title.

Here is an example from when I called my mom.

My mom: Hello.

Me: I have the Keys to the Demon Prison.

My mom: Dead silence. Followed by more dead silence. Then, "What?"

Me: I have the Keys to the Demon Prison.

My mom: Even longer silence. I heard a real live cricket chirp at least six times. Then she said, "I don't know what to say to that." Followed by more silence.

Me laughing hysterically: It's a book.

My mom, who doesn't read fantasy: Oh, that's nice. Can I call you back?

I called my hubby. It went something like this...

Hubby: Hello.

Me: I have the Keys to the Demon Prison.

Hubby: What?

Me: I have the Keys to the Demon Prison.

Hubby: What are you talking about?

I laughed again. When I hung up, I called five more people with equally satisfying results. It's almost unanimous. If you call someone out of the blue and tell them you have the Keys to the Demon Prison, you leave them speechless. You all should try it. And the best part about it is that I'm not prank calling them. Because I do have the Keys to the Demon Prison, (Man talk about free publicity. I mentioned the book by name eight times and posted a picture. So you should all feel motivated to go buy it. It's a great series!)And now, the real fun will come when I sit down and sink into the pages. My kids will be so jealous, but that's what happens when you own, you guessed it, the Keys to the Demon Prison.

I repent.

I know I vowed to post twice a week, and I failed. Miserably. But I have excuses. Good ones. I wrote over a hundred pages on my WIP! (That's my current novel, by the way. Or Work in Progress for those of you uninitiated into the world of writing.)Yea me. I'm doing a happy dance.

Lucky for you, you can't see it. It's only happy for me. For everyone else it's painful. Seriously, I'm talking you might need morphine or something even stronger. My poor family is trapped in the same room with me and they are crying in despair. My friend thought I was exaggerating, but then she remembered some happy songs performed by me that made her feel that same way. She should know, she shared an apartment with me for a year.

My second excuse is we're remodeling our basement, and I've been sanding and painting between laundry, dishes, kids, and making my keyboard smoke. Remember my pic about how writer's block feels? (And yes I kicked its butt. Did I mention my 100+ pages? Yea me!) Well, this is how remodeling makes me feel.



That is an actual photo of my basement.

Okay, I repent again. It's not my basement. It's someone else's.

But my third excuse is I've been sick. Not some wimpy cough and fever kind of sick, but the kneel at the toilet, worship the porcelain goddess, and wish you'd die kind of sick. I'd rather lose my right arm than puke. Well, okay. I'd rather break my right arm than puke. That is a honest to goodness truth. I know. I've broken my right arm before. It wasn't as bad as vomit.

I'd post a pic of how puking makes me feel, but that would be wrong on so many levels. So now that I've confessed and am trying to turn over a new leaf, I hear-by vow, again, to post twice a week. And next time I will leave out words like puke and vomit.

Unless I need to use them. Which I hope I don't.