Meredith Wood

My schedule for today's pretty full. :-) I'm taking my dog to the groomers then it's off to the store for some last minute chocolate cream pie fixins'. After that I'm cooking, picking the dog up, and then anxiously waiting for my friend who's coming in for the holiday. Tonight we're going out. I am so excited. :-D

Enjoy your family and friends this holiday!

Take a look-see: Meredith Wood

If I missed you in my link page then leave me a link here and I'll get you up!

From The Best of Me:

Wanna find out how? Check out this post by latteya: Just clickey here.

If you don't want to click just yet then I'll tell you about it. :-) The following is soo totally copied and pasted fromlatteya 's blog. Not that she cares or anything. :-D

"With all the Christmas decorations stores have out, I'm feeling in the mood for presents. So here is a gift for you: the chance to win a seriously shiny new ARC of The Gardener.
A couple cool facts about the cover. The art is by Matt Mahurin. (Google him, he's very famous and cool, not to mention talented.) Second, The Gardener is the very first Feiwel and Friends ARC to ever include the cover art, and I'm very honored they chose my book to be the first.
The book will be released in June, so yes, this means you would get to read it six months before it comes out.
What is this YA about, you ask? A bit of the back cover copy:

Mason has never known his father, but longs to. All he has of him is a DVD of a man whose face is never seen, reading a children's book. One day, on a whim, he plays the DVD for a group of comatose teens at the nursing home where his mother works. One of them, a beautiful girl, responds....."


Wanna win it? Wanna know how? Click here.

Remember the trip to see Twilight? Remember how I got lost but didn't know I was lost?

Tonight I'm taking my 2 daughters and some of their friends to see New Moon. This morning we loaded into the Expedition for the trip to school. The windows were dew covered so I turned on the window wipers. I rolled down my side window. I rolled down Roo's side window. Little M said, "Roll down my window!"

Roo: "It's not covered in the wet stuff."

Little M: "This side is." He pointed at the window across from him.

I pushed the button and it hummed its way down. I pushed the up button and it did nothing. Ho-hum. I have a window that won't go up and a 45 minute trip to make this evening. Fun times, I tell ya. Fun times. We unloaded from my Expedition and climbed into Joe's too big truck for the ride to school. He has to work tonight though so I guess taking his truck is out of the question. I hope he can fix my problem before he goes into work. I suppose I could drive my mom's car, but it's seriously high tech and way over my head. I don't know how to work the GPS, the ignition doesn't want or need a key and it just talks too much. I like the cameras in it, but I don't really know how to work them.

Maybe I'll just put some plastic over the window that won't roll up and drive on. I've never had to drive a vehicle like that and heck, why not get the experience since it's offered? lol

I don't have to tell anyone how much this isn't good for their writing.  I also don't have to tell anyone how hard it is to gain that confidence back.  Now, what made me lose mine?  I wish I could blame it on someone, but the truth is I've never lost confidence in my writing because of what someone has said.  I guess I'm just not that type.  Before I started my first book I'd spent a lot of time in book discussions, book groups and online.  I knew very well what the fans had to say about storytelling.  True, I didn't understand the process behind a book, but when I first started I knew I'd never please everyone.  Knowing this will never make me think I can't write.  Seems kinda silly to let such a thing happen in the first place, doesn't it?

I love Supernatural.  Der.  Y'all know that.  I'm falling head over heels in love with Vampire Diaries.  And no, I certainly don't expect everyone I come in contact with to love these shows like I do.  I don't even expect them to like the shows.  Certainly, I won't dislike a person because they don't like what I like.

So no.  Regarding my writing, differing opinions don't shake me.

I also know that some people can't dislike something without being nasty about it.  That is just how they're made.

I am what makes me lose confidence in me. I lose interest in my story and its mission and I lose that drive that I once had.  For me, writing a book is like a marriage.  At first, I'm all googly-eyed and it's all I can think about.  After a time though the honeymoon's over.  I have to decide if I want to work at really loving my book, give it up in some flight of fancy since the grass is always greener, or stick with it because I'm stubborn and in the end wind up hating it.

This emotional battle is what makes me lose confidence in my writing.   If I can't commit then I'm worthless.  If I can't work at making it the best it can be then I'm a lazy slob.  If I make myself do something I don't want to do then I'm only hurting myself in the end.  And the circle goes round and round.

Until, eventually, thank the fiction gods, it evens back out. 
 

(Please pardon my mixed tenses as I did do this on purpose.)

I can't begin to count the times I've wished I lived closer to nature. And that's a lie, because I do live right next to a cotton field. It's just not the nature I want. I want trees and hills and trails right outside my back door. I want to have that beauty right at my fingertips whenever I need it.

I never imagined a walk inside a store could give me peace. But it did. The evening's cool and fall like, just like so many evenings I've experienced in this town over the years. And for some reason the parking lot felt comforting, if only because of the many times I've walked it. But I'm tired and little man wanted chicken noodle soup. He had such a rough night and if that's what he wants then I'll get it for him.

When I walked in the door I found a familiar face. "You look worn out," they said.

"I am. It's been a rough day and an even rougher night before that."

With their hands on my shoulders they directed me to the window and sat me down on a stack of straw bails. I immediately felt like I could happily become a part of their fall display forever. It was off to the side where I only had to observe, no longer participate.

I sighed, my shoulders dropping. "He wants chicken noodle soup."

"Then sit and rest," they said. "We can get the soup. What else do you need."

And I let them wait on me. And I realized I might not have the hills and trees, but this is my home. Some days it might seem filled to the brim with enemies, but I know deep down that this is a blessing. Because for every enemy that knocks me down, I have three friends that lift me back up.

Dear Monday:

Strange how you can change the world so drastically in just a few hours.   Little man's having problems with his asthma, which is a first in a very long time.  We spent the night doing round after round of treatments trying to get the coughing under control.  My Roo has had an allergic reaction to her antibiotics and was covered with a very itchy rash.  Benadryl took care of that, but now she's zombified.  Big M...ya know, I think I'm going to start calling her M the Teen for my blog from now on.  Anyway, she woke with a swollen eye that I didn't get to see or examine because her daddy dosed her with Benadryl and when I woke it was much better.


*sigh*  And yet, it's only you, Monday. 

I need a cucumber myself, because my eyes are red and swollen from lack of sleep.  Plus, when the slices are chilled beforehand they help wake me up.   I'm too tired to go to the store though. 

Do you think that maybe, after all these years, we could be friends?  Just once?

~Shea

I was dating an ogre.  Cross my heart I haven’t even thought about Shrek in over a year.  Besides mine was a pukey orange color and I’m convinced he glowed. He was a zombie ogre too.

So here’s what happened:

During this special time of year, which happened to have spring like weather, these zombie type ogres could pass through worlds.   They ate people.  Truly.  Just ate’em up.  I let one in my house and in a far away type of reflection was shocked to find out that he was my boyfriend.  We cuddled and made out on the couch. 

 Yes, it’s okay.  Let your mind boggle.

So then the others outside got crazy—door banging, window banging, yelling crazy.  My orange glow-in-the-dark zombie ogre hugged me tightly and said, “I have to go.  I can’t protect you if I’m in here.”

I let him go.  It was a tearful goodbye because I really loved him. 

*Sniff. Sniff.  Snot.*

We (my kids and I) did all that we could to keep our door shut, each of us pushing and shoving against it.  I don’t remember what I had to get from the kitchen, but I told Roo not to let any of them inside.  Then I went up the stairs.

She let them in.  Just turned the knob and opened the door.

I ran back to the stairway and my mind camera did a close-up of her face.  Clear as day, she gave me her “What?” look.  The one she gives me before she says, “What? I didn’t know…blah, blah, blah, was gonna happen.”

Then I woke up.

Here are my thoughts on this odd dream:

I’m extremely disappointed that after 14 years of marriage I finally dreamed of some other guy and the dream makers gave me a glow-in-the-dark zombie ogre!

I could make this into a book.  Surely.  I mean if sparkly vamps can get a girl famous, then why can’t glowy ogres?  I know it was true love.  I’m sure of it.

Heh.  I thought I was posting this early, but then learned it is Tuesday. lol  

Um, yeah, let's not judge, okay?  It's been a crazy couple of days.   And speaking of the last couple of days I thought it would be fun to post my damaged path to the typed copy of this section.  ;-)

   






And finally we have the section typed up.  :-D

I closed my eyes, slowly shook my head and looked again.  Jason fell to his knees, his body limp with confusion.  I could have done so much at that moment: took his hand, shushed the giggling nurses at their station outside or even covered his ears so he couldn’t hear and wouldn’t associate this day with the sounds of the football game that came through the walls of the next room.

But I did none of those things.  Instead, I stood still and learned grief.  It was like being caught on the Bering Sea during a winter storm: cold and fierce, dark and swollen with the threat of suppressed pain.  It sliced through me flaying me out layer by layer and piece by piece until at last there was nothing left as it had swallowed me whole.

            Then, like a frigid glacier dropped from the sky, it unleashed its pain.  And I found I had had something left of myself: my soul.  In seconds, that was gone too, shattered into thousands of shards and scattered across the miles of flash frozen tomorrows that Terry would never see.

It's like everything looks different.  Completely different but so freakin' good. lol 

I put the kids in bed and then with no interruptions I write.  The phone doesn't ring.  I don't have to stop to run to the store or do laundry or cook.  It's just me and my characters.  This is probably as close to heaven as I'll get before I die.  What's even better is when I do go to sleep I go to sleep feeling like I accomplished something.  I'm not weighed down with things I should've done.

Family wise this is working out great too.  I'm asleep while the kids are at school, awake when they get home, and not feeling the pull of trying to get a few words down here and there.  I'm at peace, knowing I'll have my book to myself later that night.

I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier.  Okay, so my son was at home with me last year.   But Joe works such weird schedules that we don't live a regular 9-5, Monday through Friday life anyway. 

I've been worried about doctor visits and things.  If I continue to write at night then how do I work this in?  I realized that I'm not taking myself seriously.  I keep thinking I have to squeeze writing in somewhere.  I don't.  I've said it a million times and it's time I listened to myself.   I have a real job and I work nights.  So yes, I can make doctor appointments in the afternoons.  I don't have to feel lazy and insufficient because I stayed up all night writing and now I need to sleep.  The body needs sleep.  I don't have to live on a day schedule.  I can live on my own schedule. :-D

Ain't nothing like feeling free with your writing, huh? lol

Maybe I seem distant.
And really, I am.
Maybe I seem unreachable.
To you I’m sure I am.
Hardened and unbreakable.
So you want to know me?
You want the real me?
Go ahead.  Take a look.
Deep inside there’s still that chubby little girl.
Hidden beneath the branches of her willow tree.
She’s got glasses and a book. 
And if you look real close
You’ll see those glasses slip.
She scrunches up her nose
And pushes the frames back up.
Look at me now. 
Often you will see it.
I scrunch up my nose.
It’s not weird or quirky.
It’s just a little girl.
The very core of me.
A thousand dreams.
A thousand wishes.
A world untouched.
An ocean yet to be explored.
Deep inside there’s still that chubby little girl
She chews her nails watching that caterpillar in its jar
Waiting for the day she finds a chrysalis formed,
Wondering if it might like clover instead of dandelions.
Look at me now.
Often you will see it.
I chew my nails.
Not so much a nasty habit.
It’s just a little girl.
The very core of me.
Sometimes it seems I’ll never catch my dreams
And that little girl feels the sting of tears.
Sometimes I get a little further.
Sometimes my feet get knocked out from beneath me.
When this happens
Do you know what she thinks?
That little girl.
The very core of me.
She thinks she’ll never make it
Because she wears glasses
And she’s fat.
It’s true.
Even that boy, so long ago
He said he didn’t like her.
He said she looked like a blubbery whale.
Look at me now.
Sometimes I travel in the darkness
Sometimes I get lost
Unable to find my way out.
But that little girl?
The very core of me?
She’ll always be the me I hold onto
The me that houses my soul.

                                         ~Meredith Wood

 This song touches that little girl in me.  So for those of you out there that need this today, and you know who you are, here’s a little of The Climb to help push you along.

 

A Red Bull.  Some sunshine.  A movie contract.

If I had a Red Bull then I'd feel more alive after only 3 hours of sleep.   If I had some sunshine, I could walk.  In walking I could then stop, close my eyes and soak in some much-needed vitamins.  If I had a movie contract then I could finally afford to get very far away from this stinkin' town.  Today, I hate the place I live.  Most days I only slightly hate it.

If you'd like to imagine me today, imagine me with a bottle of wine.  I'm half-drunk and stumbling along a concrete ledge.  Here now, stay with me.  I swing the bottle and wail some more about how sorry I feel for myself.  Aren't you glad you hung around?  Does it matter that I have a great life, a wonderful husband and three beautiful, healthy kids?  Of course it matters.  But today I'm bummed and needing the pity-party.  Some days we need to laugh.  I'd take that for today, there just doesn't seem to be any humor left in the world.  Not for me.  Not for today. 

I feel used up.  I feel tired.  I feel alone.

I'm wondering what my husband would think if I booked a flight to Florida, packed my bags and said, "Bye.  I need this, so I'm going."

Those are the words that hang above my desk, for years the culprit behind my driving force. 

Some days my chant refers to my imagination, some days my talent.  Some days I’m drawn to the words because of an agent, some days it’s an editor.   There are even days that my readers make me bow my head and chant them.  Even still, there are days the silence becomes unbearable and I fear the world has forgotten me.  Or worse, maybe the world has hidden from me—the better to giggle and whisper behind their hands, the better to mock me and all my stupid little stories.

Whatever reason lies behind my need for them, over the years they’ve become my best friends.

Last year we went  to Tunica where I won a ton of money.  As is typical of my husband he decided I could win more for him.  So he took me downstairs the next morning and I lost half my winnings before I finally put my foot down and said, "Enough."


Yeah, oddly, he has a gambling problem through me.  See, he doesn't gamble much himself, but I, on the other hand, seem to win when I do.  At least at first I do.   There are times I think he takes the "and the two shall become one flesh"  to the extreme.  ;-)

Usually I'm all for walking away with my money, but he always talks me into going back the next morning.  

All this is beside the point.  Hmm... Maybe not...

Got any ideas for this year's celebration?

Writing a book is an adventure.  To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant.  The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public--Winston Churchill.

At 3 this morning I was jumping back and forth between scenes as well as bouncing from my iPod and notebook to my main book file.  It was one of the juggles where your notes have bits and pieces from a dozen different scenes and you’re happily letting it all come as it wants.  Jot it down and if a new scene pops up while you’re in that creative zone you go ahead and move to it.  I love this kind of writing.  True, I end up with a million chunks of description and dialogue that to anyone else looks like gibberish, but I know where every bit of it goes.  And it’s fun.

If I get a few good hours without interruption I can get about 10k written this way.

I forgot a couple things though.  It was the middle of night and my computer was updating whatever the heck it’s set to update at 3 in the morning and I have a new MS Word program.  Every few minutes a box would pop up with a timer asking me if I wanted to restart my computer after the updates.

Um , NO.  I’m working here, you stupid updater thing!

As far as my new MS Word I'd already adjusted everything to my likes:  the default is Times and my background is black, not blue, cause the blue makes me mad when I’m frustrated and it’s just there all cheery-like.  I also set the grammar corrections to my liking, making sure to unmark that blasted contraction thing. 

I wrote out about 500 new words, but lost what my character was supposed to say next.  So I moved to my thinking chair and hit play on my iPod, trying to recall the moment.   

That stupid timer dialogue box popped up while I was concentrating on my notebook and restarted my computer.

Uh, yeah, I’d forgotten to reset the auto-save to every 2 minutes instead of 10.

Why is it so hard for me to say this?  Why do I always feel like no one will take me seriously?

I am a writer.  It's what I am.  Not, mind you, what I do.

And yet, it feels as if to some I am a person who spends a few minutes here and there jotting down a few things.  As if creating a story takes no more effort than turning the images on and off at will.

If, say, I was a cabinet maker and I only got paid when the job was finished then let's face it, it has to be finished at some point, doesn't it? 

I don't know about cabinet makers, but I wonder how well they could work with so many interruptions.  They have to create their design, which, being a person who creates myself, I know that takes time and thought.  What if every time they began on their design they had to stop to do something for someone else?  They then will need to build their frames and doors.  Near the end they'll add the finishing touches.  And then, of course, we have the polish. 

Each of these steps takes careful thought and planning.  Some steps take a more delicate touch while others only the right measurements.

If I were a cabinet maker, then do you think they'd give me time to work?

Just wondering 'cause I'm getting really frustrated right now.  I mean really frustrated.

 

The dream:

I was inside asleep because I’d written all night.  Some loud banging on the door woke me. When I answered I found all my neighbors, some cops, a few people who I guess were from code enforcement and a construction company.  (I’m thinking I might have watched way too many of those Verizon commercials lately.)

They were all mad at me.  My house (which wasn’t my real house) was coming apart and I wasn’t fixing it as it happened.  I mean they were really mad, like yelling and stamping their feet and shaking their fists.  I kept trying to explain that I couldn’t have done anything because I’d been asleep, plus some of the things that needed done I simply wasn’t strong enough to do.

Then a tree fell on someone’s car.  It squashed the car flat and managed to shove it into my car.  Everybody got madder at me.  I kept saying, “I’m not God.  I can’t control this.  I can’t fix it!”

The crowd parted and Io and behold, I had a stream running through my yard—with a bridge!  Instinctively I knew something wasn’t right with my stream so I followed the path the crowd made for me.  At some point or another a car had hit the bridge and slid into the water.  As you can imagine I was shaky and dizzy and not breathing too well.  Since my dreams have a special director who has this magic way of slowing the cameras of my mind, I got to slowly set my hands against the bridge railing and slowly inch my head over the rail.

It was full of dead people.  Dozens and dozens.  Little people and big people, girls and guys, just floating around, not breathing. 

Now while I was trying to figure out how I’d caused this to happen, since by then I was convinced everything WAS my fault, a floating guy rolled over and sat up.

I screamed.  Then I shouted, “He’s not dead!  Quick, somebody get over here and help me get him out!”

A guy appeared at my side from who knows where.  (It’s a dream.  It never makes sense)   He said, “They want to be there.  It’s important for their therapy.”

Needless to say, I was very put off that they wanted to use my stream or river or creek, whatever you choose to call it for their mental therapy?  It was also really creepy that their therapy involved playing a drowning victim. 

I said all this to the magically appearing guy and everyone got mad at me again.  The last thing I remember doing before I woke up was crying for my husband because I couldn’t fix anything that was wrong and I didn’t know where he was.

Look at this.  :-) I even have a teaser to share today.  At this rate I might actually even get this book finished and edited by Christmas.

"To the casual observer it might look like courage.”  She shrugged.  “It might even be courage, but definitely not mine if it is.  It’s everyone else’s—the doctors', my sister, Jason and now you and your dad.  That’s what keeps me fighting it, my family and friends' determination.”  Her eyes shifted to the mirror behind me where they stayed focused as she continued, “As for me, I’m a puppet going wherever they take me, saying what they tell me to say.  Being brave, because that’s what they want.”

That's it for the teaser.  :-) Oh, by the way, remember my poltergeist?  He's back again.  Been playing with the dryer door the last couple of days.  I'm kinda scared because we have a new dishwasher.  I hope he doesn't break this one too.  :-(