Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Do you think romance is dead....

It’s officially begun, the road of staying the course and putting everything on the line in a professional manner. The race to get published is on. Last week, a very good friend of mine forwarded a link to a writing competition. She had come across an article about a woman who had always been interested in writing and decided to enter a specific publisher’s contest in all hopes of potentially winning the Grand Prize. To get her work published.

When she saw the article, I am more than touched that she automatically thought of me. But, let’s take that one back for a second. Who in the hell else is writing a romance piece? Still completely gracious, always, to have someone looking out for our interests.

The contest is simple. You and the likes of several other writers are competing with a total of three chapters assuming that you get through the first round. It's not always unusual to see this type of competition from a publisher, but the fact that she saw the article at just the right time, is how the universe works sometimes. The publisher has opened it's arms to up and coming writers alike for what is being called 'New Voices.' I previously mentioned completing a short story for a girlfriend, that story sparked something inside of me that has been dormant for far too long. It sparked a love affair with the written word, with the endless ideas that go crazy in my muddled brain; it sparked a way to keep envisioning the way things could be within my hopelessly romantic heart. I am a new voice, and this voice is itching to be heard.

I entered the competition.

What better time than now to really push myself and follow a gut instinct? I know how I get the minute I have made a life decision. Determination fuels me, I become driven by an unknown force and ultimately have never failed. I’m not saying that roadblocks have not been a very uncomfortable friend all along the way, but certainly the minute I start to focus on one particular accomplishment or multiple projects-they move seamlessly and success typically follows.

This is not a bragging room, but was a reminder that we really can do whatever we want. There are no limitations, everything is within our grasps. Everything. Reading through the other submissions, it’s clear that the competition will be go either way but I’m honestly not bothered. It took a huge amount of courage to post on a publisher’s website, reach out to friends, family, and unknown people through social mediums to ask for support.

To support not just myself, but all of the writers. At the end of the day, this is not about winning a competition. It’s about understanding that you can do anything you set your mind to, regardless of the situation. I’m excited to see where the first chapter goes, and if it even takes off. Of course, I’m going to be stalking the mess out of the Mills & Boon website tracking the progress, but also sending out words of encouragement to all of the other writers.

Because that is what I would want. To be supported on one of the passions that we all share. To write, to share a story that was not meant to be published for monetary reasons. It was only meant to be written for others to take into their homes and enjoy.

So with that, if there is free time to spare and someone is craving a bunch of starts to stories—or rather the start to a certain one in particular….Please follow the link to the Mills & Boon site by clicking on the title 'Summoning Mr. Right' and rock the vote.

Summoning Mr. Right


With seventy-five cents to her name and no way to pay the bill should her date bail, Emmerson Nichols has hit rock bottom. With a wasted degree and a slew of temp jobs she finds luck in filling her bank account but not in her life.

Despite his booming career, Derek Westcott can’t warm the city officials with his broad shoulders and sexy grin. Not by a longshot. When fate plays with a woman trying to find herself and a man trying to hold his business together, who will win?

Monday, September 19, 2011

How I met your husband….

I am in a dating detox. For another forty five days I am getting back to the basics by listening and taking action in contrast to my heart. From one Romeo to the next, it has been a tumultuous ride over the course of almost ten months. And in that amount of time—it has become a period to shun your eyes, drink a bottle of wine and take a long hot bath. Or laugh and thank god you are living a life different from this.

I met a man, this man was outrageously funny and enthusiastic. He was cute, but also only available at certain times that always seemed to be the same. Strike the Red Flag immediately. It turned out, and I found out almost two months in of talking and going out, that he was married. We were ‘flinging.’

As in fully married, probably father of year and oh so very attached.

How does this happen?

One would think this was the Maury Povich year up in my neck of the woods, but honest to god I did not expect him to be, let alone think I could ever partake in such a predicament.

Well I did, and it happened. It was an affair and so because of that, I am in a dating detox.

At first I was only going to take thirty days to clear my mind, body and soul but realized that this one—like a shot of Jack Daniels, burned all of the way down. I still hurt from the betrayal of someone I was beginning to like, and so for that I decided on taking a full sixty days to recoup. To relax and get my groove back.

Of course, this is when I start to pay extra close attention to what has been lacking over the past few months. From workouts to dressing up I have been taking it way too easy lately, because I was excited that for a change someone was thinking about me. Calling to check in and see how my day was, coming over. I felt attached, how silly and obtuse as that notion may be now, considering the fact that the guy was already attached--but that is all changing. I’ve been re-reading books to gain lost confidence, meditating in order to clear the clutter in my mind and working out to sweat off the softer parts of my body that could be trimmed down.

What is it about the dating process that is so difficult to some, and so easy for others. I have covered this topic one too many times over, but it seems to be reoccurring which makes me believe the problem lies within me. Am I trying too hard in capturing this one guy out there? Have I romanticized too much, or is it really possible?

It’s possible, so I’m taking the time to kick back and find the beauty deep down my single woman’s body. I was talking to multiple friends over the past several days who all keep quiet but say the words that they think I want to hear. Words that I don’t want to hear because it’s repetitive and I’m simply tired of hearing them one day after the next.

For the next forty five days, it’s my turn to be a selfish bitch. To shop when I want to shop. Read Cosmo or Jane Austen, whatever my brain is craving.To detox my body and kick the angst out through kickboxing and circuit training. To drink all the coffee I want and slink away into the city for as many hours of my liking for whatever reason. To plan unnecessary trips just to get away, because I can.

In the first set of the detox, I cleaned up my telephone, email and threw out little notes that had been left behind. I re-started saying three things I am most thankful for at the end of each day, and also envisioned ways of changing a day around in my mind had anything gone differently as expected. A workout regime was re-activated and a health plan was put back into place. The next stage is inner and outer beauty-for this I’m working on the entire forty five days on. From my approach to people and personal demeanor to changing up a wardrobe and sprucing up to accent not only my body but my personality. Enter new dresses and platform heels, flip flops to the back.

The detox is about reclaiming what we lose, when we are in that search for the Prince Charming (s) of the world. That endless and silly search. But no more, this time I am serious about it taking the time and letting go. I’m not saying the search is over for a lifetime but for now, it’s not about a search but about connecting with myself on a higher level and letting all of the other business move to the side.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Well that was to be expected.

Coming back from a weeklong trip out visiting with family can go two ways.

Considering I had already cried like a baby the minute I saw my sister, her house, the baby and just about everything else I figured my body was pretty much cried out. The need to strangle anything or turn to the bottle never crossed my mind.

Sometimes it takes a trip like that to make you see the real you. A real understanding of yourself as a person, a woman (or man), lover, partner, etc. I am not a large crying person, unless I’ve bashed my foot in or knocked the knee out when running through the prairies pretending I can still run, but being there and with so much emotion, I swear I cried for more than a lifetime.

Apparently that must mean I am growing as a person, because it made me realize that certain emotions had been dried up for so long that it felt like Niagara Falls for a few nights. Thank god for the privacy of personal rooms, but it was more than laughable to realize that it felt good to let everything out.

On the flight back, I was talking to the couple next to me on the flight and as the woman started to fall asleep during the flight something occurred to me.
There are introverts and extroverts all over. Type A and Type B. Hands down, I am an extrovert. Unafraid to talk randomly to people, will put myself out there in any given situation which can lead to good experiences and crazy ones. Strange happenings have always popped up in my life, hence the full meaning of this blog:

Living in that blonde moment

My life is one big blonde moment, for which I embrace fully. Whether it be a slip to the floor, crying in public over some stupid advert or simply experiencing something out of the typical and monotonous day.

On a flight that had been delayed, we’d been stuck on the tarmac for about a half an hour, I was exhausted. The week was emotionally draining, my body was beat, but I still needed to get to my car. Flying is a fun and simple process, and the only real part that I get anxious about is parking my car. Normally I would have hired a car service or call for a cab, but with this particular trip the flight times were all over the place and I hate to even ask anyone about doing a favor for me. I’m the ‘get in, get it done’ type of traveler.

My car was parked in the long-term side of the airport and while I just made it outside of the doors from the baggage claim, luck reigned down and a shuttle was right there waiting. Thank god! Seamless so far, apart from the many bathroom trips from the people sitting next to me and the long tarmac wait.

Excited to be one inch closer to the car, my eyelids started to droop and before I knew it the bus was parked outside of a garage. I did not remember parking in a garage. Where was the driver. Where the hell was I?

Not good.

The driver came back onto the bus after he had taken a break—and completely left me there. What an idiot I am for closing my eyes for a second. Turns out, there are multiple routes for the long-term parking. One for each section, which seems completely ridiculous to me but who am I to judge. After talking it over with the driver, I in fact was in the wrong bus, and was going to be driven back to the airport.

What a shame, so much for getting home at a decent hour. Instead of getting angry or frustrated I laughed it off. The driver laughed right with me, this would only happen to me.

The first time I rode public transportation-I caught the wrong bus and ended up on the wrong side of Seattle.

The first time on the freeway, I exited too early and drove in a neighborhood that I will never return to. Scary.

Just that week, I was at the market buying fresh flowers and talked with the vendor—after a few laughs he gave me a bunch of extra stems.

While we were laughing, he asked where I was parked so of course I told him. Before I knew what was happening he was pulling the bus to a stop and we were right outside of my car. Door to door service.

A surprise right before your eyes. I expressed my huge graciousness to the man as I got off of the bus and loaded up my car. I couldn’t believe it, could you honestly expect anything less?

No. At least, that is what I thought and when I told other people—what they thought as well. But it got me thinking not only about the emotions and growing, but had I been a raging tired bitch-he would have made me walk. But I laughed it off, talked with the man and sure enough got first class service.

Who knows, how these things happen. Or why for that matter, but they do. Living in the moment, or being susceptible. I fully embrace the moments and take them for what they are. Whether it be something fun, exciting or even helpful it couldn’t be any other way.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

One down, how many more to go

One year ago today, everything changed. From the land I had grown to know to the people I had grown up with.

One year ago, I made the journey of a lifetime and since that day everything has changed--ten fold.

It almost seems fitting that this time last year I was in Seattle for a very near and dear friend’s wedding. I had just sent all of my belongings off with a mover in San Francisco that could not speak a word of English and flown up to Seattle for a whirlwind weekend. Only to fly back on the only delayed flight and race like made to pack up my car and start the journey east.

Yes, it does seem fitting that this past week I had traveled back to Seattle to see that same friend who had gotten married, now fully pregnant and ready to give birth any day. It did seem fitting to tie up hardened ends with my family and try to put shattered pieces and bruised emotions back together.

This year has been the most challenging I have ever experienced. From moving so far out of my comfort zone, into an area where nobody is around where you can crash on a couch and cry your eyes out over the fact that the job market was still falling. Over the fact that you can’t figure out where a relationship went wrong, or just to pass out from debauchery activities.

While sitting on a creaky wooden bench out along the chilly Canadian waters of the Pacific, I sipped wine and finally took it all in. How these spontaneous moments hit us, still shocks me, but for this understanding it hit as the sun set and the pier lights went on.

This year has been a mean, gnarly, nasty bitch but I wouldn’t have had it either way. When I walked along the sidewalk leading up to Pike Place to get flowers-to then sitting and looking out at the mountains, I realized that life and each day happens regardless of our breakdowns.

Regardless of whether we go out on a Friday night.

Regardless of the fact that you hit the gym and are looking svelte or not.

Regardless of whether you decide to get out of bed to experience the day or not. It is up to you.

The year has taught me in more ways than one, that despite anything you can conquer any given situation. The choice is really yours, and that choice takes action.

This year, I have moved to an area where I knew nobody and now a year later it’s safe to say that I have a family close by. I have been taken in, invited into a whole new area of experiences that had I stayed in bed—would never have gone through with.

Like go to New York on a whim for a weekend. Walk a runway and let a friend dye my platinum blonde locks deep brown, decide to publish a ‘naughty’ story—and turn that idea into a full on career, watch friends grow in ‘reality’ fashion and get a full design perspective of material artwork, make friends that are strictly positive and give back just as much as they take.

I may have hit rock bottom, and it’s been a bitch to claw my way back up, but that’s the main point. Moving up, moving forward. Every day has brought some kind of crazy revelation, that more and more people keep laughing at me because I’m starting to sound like a broken record…but still—they know. I know.

Over the week, a friend had asked. ‘I wonder what it would be like if you stayed in San Francisco?’ I can’t answer that question, because I’ve come so far into just the right element that it would be hindering the step forward.

I don’t know where I would be, but I can guarantee that I sure as hell wouldn’t be living in a foggy apartment, listening to the constant screams of my neighbors above, let alone the planes that flew to SFO every five minutes from the North.

I do also know, that I wouldn’t be me. Right now, today. While waiting to meeting up with this good friend, I was in a bookstore and for some reason I was directed to this one book. It was strange, but I didn’t fight the guide. I walked over and in an hour I finished this book, I related to every part of it. Every thought, every action, every shift in emotion moves us. Of course it was a self improvement book, because lord knows when you’re flying back to see your new nephew and meet up with a pregnant friend….you’re going to get broody and wonder. What the hell happened with me?

The book resonated in every word, life happened with me. A different type of life that may not work for the person next to me, for the person standing across the hallway, but it has come together for me. Sure there are hard times, but those hard times have crafted a better understanding, created another opening and opportunity for something different.

This is a good place to be. This is where I am successful right now, in happiness, in relationships, in life. It’s just right-who knew all that would happen in a year.