Real Life Versus a Good Story

For my first effort at writing in my new journal, I started with a prompt from the Writer's Digest that I also bought at Barnes & Noble on Friday. It suggests that you take a story from your real life and adjust it slightly to see where it takes you.

I took a story that I have been thinking about expanding on and started writing. Thirteen or 14 pages in -- front and back -- I'm thinking that I need to start typing it rather than writing it down, because I keep going and going. I do have a point in the story in mind where I want to stop and see if it's worth typing it up and writing more.

My other dilemma is when you're writing a short story or book or script, how much of a distance do you keep between your real life and make believe? I've changed some names to protect the innocent, but there's one name in particular that remains the same. He's not a person that I have any connection with anymore, but he was pretty important to me for a while and I couldn't think of a different name for him. At least, I didn't want to spend a lot of time for this exercise coming up with another name.

For some of the other names, it would still be pretty obvious to the real life people whose monikers I changed that I'm talking about them. And the facts of these characters remain pretty close to how they behaved when I knew them. Not that I expect at this point that the story I'm writing right now will ever be published, but you never know.

One or two people would be pretty embarrassed and maybe even angry if their written portraits ever made it into print. They certainly don't look like saints in the picture I've painted. Whether they recognize the behavior I've identified in them or not, they aren't likely to be happy about they way I viewed them or the way I'm portraying them.

So, how much should a writer keep the same and how much should they change when they're writing a story loosely based on their life? Are there any ethical guidelines that I should be aware of? Is it based solely on your tolerance for the anger you might cause? Or lawsuits you might generate if those people are easily identified by the reading public?

It's something to think about as I use images from my past life to create stories in the future. You always hear that you should write about what you know. What better place to start than your own real life dramas?

Blue With a Bird on It

So, I bought my journal today. It's light blue with an exotic bird in pink and purple hues on the front and back. It's very lightweight -- perfect for carrying in my purse -- and held closed with an elastic band. The pages are lined and there's a little bird in the top outer corners of each one. I look forward to taking out of my purse and writing in it often. It would've been perfect today when I was scribbling down some notes while I was at a conference. Anyway, now I'm all set to start playing with some ideas ... can't wait!

The Perfect Journal

The latest effort in my strategy to write something every day is to carry a journal around in my purse, but it can't be just any notebook.

I have a couple of unused journals that I've bought or been given as gifts and I attempted to carry one of them in my purse today, but it didn't look or feel right. It's the right size and it has roses on the front. Unfortunately, it also has a giant metal spiral that binds the pages together, so it takes up way too much room in my purse. I have another one that's lighter, but it's too tall. And it already has pages torn out of it. That just seems like bad writing juju.

My plan at some point this weekend is to go to Barnes & Noble, where I have a book on hold anyway, and spend some time inspecting that store's journals. I want something that's about 5 by 7 inches, with a pretty cover and that's not too heavy, since I'll be carrying it around in my already overburdened purse. I don't want a clasp, but I might settle for something with an elastic band to hold the book closed.

The pages have to be sturdy, but not thick like card stock and not so thin that the writing will show through to the other side of the paper. The pages also must be lined. Lines will keep me from writing so big that I fill the journal in a short time and so small that I can't read it.

My theory is that if I get just the right journal, I won't mind carrying it around. I'll want to take it out from time to time to look at the cover design and fill the thin-but-not-too-thin pages with whatever happens to inspire me ... story ideas, column fodder, blog notes. I'm looking forward to meeting my match.

Long, Slow Slog

How is it that even with topics like commercial real estate, in which I have plenty of confidence in my abilities after writing about it for 10 years, it still feels sometimes like a long, slow slog through thick pea soup to make my deadline?

Granted, I was out of the office for a day and a half at a conference after being out sick for a day and a half. But, I did some writing at home the last three days so that I wouldn't be behind, so I fully expected when I got to the office this morning that I'd turn one story in by 10 a.m. and the other by 2 p.m. My deadline is noon on Wednesdays.

Instead, I turned in the first story well after noon and struggled to get the second one in at 5:20 p.m. I don't know what happened, other than I overestimated my capabilities, once again.

The fortunate thing about writing for a weekly newspaper, besides the fact that my editor has a couple of days to read my stories before they go to print, is that I have a new set of deadlines next week to show that I am able to turn stories in on time.

Inevitably, though, some new obstacle will come up next week to keep me from being as efficient as I would like. People will wait until the last minute to get back to me. I'll be holding out for some particular piece of data to finish my industrial market forecast. Or, as happens sometimes, my brain will stop working and I will struggle to string words and facts together coherently.

All I can do to combat any of those foes is set out on a path, one foot in front of the other, and keep climbing uphill into the headwind.

Excuses, Excuses

I've been sick. I've been busy. I've been tired. That's why I forgot to write on my blog yesterday.

While I've been fighting off the last of the congestion left over from my cold, I've spent the last day and a half stumbling around a conference in heels listening to hotel executives and finance gurus talk about the sad state of the hospitality industry and meeting with lawyers, investors, managers and even a software developer to further discuss the hotel market disarray. As a result, I'm exhausted.

I'm actually looking back to going back to the office tomorrow so I can turn in the stories that are due and finish sorting through the e-mail that's been piling up in my inbox ... and let the blisters on my feet heal before another conference scheduled at the same hotel on Friday.

Even though I have some pretty good reasons for slacking off when it comes to the work due in this space every day, there's really no excuse for not writing here daily as I promised myself I would when I started this blog.

Half the battle really is showing up every day, whether I have anything terribly interesting to say or not, and trying to come up with something to fill this space. The other half of the battle, of course, is writing something compelling that gives people a reason to come back and check in with me from time to time. I'm working on that.

So, excuse me if I flake out every now and then and forget to drop by with some new words. I'm going to stick with this venture and see where it takes me, even if it doesn't lead me anywhere new for a long time.

Sick Days Are Over

As miserable as I was the last couple of days, I enjoyed having an excuse to take some time off from work, from mommy duties, from cooking and cleaning.

While my husband and son were at work and daycare on Thursday afternoon and all day Friday, I watched movies. It was an eclectic assortment of entertainment too -- "Pride & Prejudice," "The Breakfast Club," "Jennifer's Body" and "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince."

True, from home I did send out several e-mails asking some of my sources to answer questions via e-mail, since I couldn't talk on the phone for more than a minute without coughing for 20 minutes straight. And, I checked my work e-mail account every hour or so in case anyone had any questions for me. But, I didn't do any writing or make any phone calls, because I felt the least bad when I was lying down.

Fortunately, I have the kind of husband who pitches in without being asked. On Thursday night, he picked up a pizza for dinner. On Friday, he cooked veggie burgers. Last night, he made pasta. Feeling better than I have in days, especially after my husband took our 3-year-old son to play at a park at the beach, I made chicken stir-fry and fried rice tonight.

The biggest help my husband provided was keeping our son entertained when all I wanted was to lie down and taking over story time at night when I was unable to read more than a page out loud without coughing continuously.

Tonight I'm tired again, but not so much from being sick. Instead, I'm tired, because I played with my son and picked up around the house. Yep, my sick days are over and it's back to work for mommy.

Sicker Than Sick

I'm taking a little hiatus from the blog. My cold with a cough and sore throat has evolved into a full-on head cold with major sinus pressure. When my husband has a cold it lasts a few days. When I have a cold it lasts a few weeks. Just in time for a busy week a work next week. Ugh.

Sick Day

I have a cold. A miserable cold.

Actually, the cold itself isn't so bad. It's the cough that's making me miserable. Every time I attempt to have a conversation with someone, I start coughing and I can't stop.

That's why I left work early today. You see, a big part of my job is talking to people. In fact, the main thing that I needed to do today was call a dozen people or so and interview them. But after coughing all the way through a 20-minute phone conversation -- with my headset on and off of mute to spare the victim on the call from listening to me cough -- I had to give up and come home. My throat was in agonizing pain by the end of our talk.

So, I came home and e-mailed questions to some sources and laid down on the couch to watch "Pride & Prejudice." After a couple of hours of peace and quiet, it might not be so bad to be miserably sick more often. Then again, there will be hell to pay whenever I do make it back into the office and try to meet next week's deadlines while simultaneously attending a conference.

Sigh ... I guess I'll just work over the weekend. The break was nice while it lasted.

My Brain Hurts

I spent five or six hours writing about interest rate risk today, the kind of thing that makes my brain hurt. As a result, I can't think of anything interesting to write today. At least I made the effort to bring up my blog and type something. That counts, right?

Three-day Weekend Blues

Sometimes I wonder when I get back in the office on the Tuesday after a three-day weekend why I even bother to take the day off, especially on days like today when I spend 10 and a half hours in the office catching up on phone calls and scrambling to meet my deadline.

There's no less work when we have a three-day weekend, just fewer days to do the work in. No matter how much I prepare for it beforehand, I'm still behind when it's time to go back to the office.

I'm glad I got to spend yesterday morning playing at the Science Museum with my son, but I paid for it today by getting home two hours later than usual. I don't expect tomorrow to be much better either.

I also have a miserable cough and sore throat, but I can't afford to lose any time in the office to recover from this cold or whatever it is. It's a good thing I'll be sitting in my office writing all day, so I don't spread my germs around to my co-workers. Ugh.

MLK Jr. Day

On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I always wonder what he'd think of race relations in the United States today. This year, I can't help but draw parallels to some highs and lows around the world.

Barack Obama was sworn in as our president a year ago this month. Despite those who opposed his election to the high office, I think it was a proud time in our country's history. Seeing his black face in contrast to the white stone buildings in the Capitol and the predominantly white faces of politicians surrounding him made my heart swell with pride. I cried as I listened to his speech on CNN at work while I was supposed to be writing on deadline.

Obama has had a steep uphill climb, battling the worst economic recession in decades and trying to pass an ambitious health care overhaul through Congress. Still, he accepted the Nobel Peace Prize at the same time that he was trying to determine the appropriate number of additional troops to send to Afghanistan based on the international community's conviction that he will be the president to bring our soldiers home from Afghanistan and Iraq sooner rather than later. If only all of us in his home country had the same faith in our own president.

That hope stands in stark contrast to the turmoil mounting in Haiti after a devastating earthquake brought down most homes and businesses in that country's capitol city of Port-au-Prince. The vast majority of the people living and now struggling to stay alive in Haiti, the poorest country in the Western hemisphere, are black.

While the status of African-Americans has improved in the four decades since Dr. Kong's death, most of the black men, women and children in Haiti still live destitute lives. Many of them had nothing before and I wonder how much different their lives really are now, given the 80 percent poverty rate in Haiti. There may have been United Nations forces helping to keep the peace there before the massive earthquake last week, but most of the world turned a blind eye to Haiti's plight until the unimaginable occurred.

Surely, King's dreams of equality reached beyond U.S. borders to the rest of the world, seeing as how he modeled his strategy of peaceful resistance after the words of India's Mahatma Ghandi. Hopefully, the latest tragedy in Haiti will give the world reason enough to help the island nation's poor lift themselves up out of the rubble surrounding them and rebuild their lives with their heads held high with hope for the better future that King saw for all the world's people.

Nestled All Snug in His Bed

Coming in a close second place after the moment when my son kisses me good night, this is almost my favorite time of the day. Jack is in bed, my husband is reading or watching TV in the living room, and I'm sitting in my office listening to my fingers striking the keys on my keyboard and thinking about turning on iTunes on my computer.

Since it's Saturday night, I'll probably stay up writing until midnight or later. I'm thrilled that I can do the same thing tomorrow night, since Monday is a holiday and I don't have to go in to the office.

I often write in the evenings when Jack is still awake, but I'm frequently interrupted to investigate the sound of toys or cups or something unknown crashing on our hardwood floors, to answer pleas from my son for more milk, or to respond to something my husband asked me that I didn't hear the first time.

At night, when Jack's asleep and Jeff is otherwise entertained, I can focus on my work and write more than two sentences without losing my train of thought ... except that I just remembered that I need to pay a couple of bills. But the mail's not going to be picked up until Tuesday, since it's a three-day weekend, so maybe I'll stay focused on the best time of my day for a little while longer.

Nice Saturday Morning

I got up bright and early today and took my son to get a haircut at 9 o'clock. After waking up at 7 a.m. and realizing that I had only an hour and a half to get myself showered and dressed, put clothes on Jack, eat breakfast, feed Jack and pack his bag of pull-ups, snacks, milk and toys, I spent the morning rushing around to make it to our appointment on time at the kid's hair salon.

With all the hustle and bustle leading up to the main reason for our trip to the mall, we spent the rest of the morning wandering around with no agenda. First, we meandered through World Market where I looked at tablecloths and towels, but didn't buy anything except for a little bath tub boat for Jack.

Next, we hung out in Barnes & Noble reading books and picking out a few to take home. We bought a Yo Gabba Gabba Valentine's Day book, since we don't have any Valentine's Day books. Jack also picked out a book that came with tiny little trucks that he can drive on the street scenes that fold out of the book. That should be a good one when we go out to eat for dinner sometime.

Then we wandered down to Target where I picked up a few things I forgot to get there last night. Afterward, it was past 11 a.m. and Jack was hungry, so we ate tacos at Rubio's before we left to go to the park. But after all of that wandering around the mall, Jack was tired, so 20 minutes into our visit to the park he wanted to leave. He fell asleep on the way home and now he's taking a nap in his bed.

I'd really like to do some writing, but I'm tempted to watch a movie too. It's been a while since I've had more than a few minutes alone in the house and it feels like the possibilities are endless. I could clean. I could read. I could write. I could watch a movie. I could relax. If I had the ability to sleep at will like my husband, I'd take a nap.

It's been a good day, so far. Jack happily roamed around the mall with me, didn't throw any tantrums and ate a good amount of his lunch. We goofed off and had fun. I love those kinds of days. It makes the bad trips full of 3-year-old meltdowns seem like they're not so bad. Truthfully, they don't happen that often. Now, I better go take advantage of the rare peace and quiet, before my little buddy wakes up.

Winning the Potty War

We had a small victory at our house this morning. As I was taking the diaper off of my son that he wore all night, he said, "I'm not a little baby."

Finally! He's ready to be a big boy.

Why the change? He has a new friend at daycare. Yesterday, the children there got into two lines before nap time -- one for kids that needed their diaper changed and one for kids that use the potty. My son got into the potty line behind his new friend, a 4-year-old boy who's definitely toilet trained.

And the trend continued today when Jack sat on the potty three times. One of those times he even asked to use the bathroom before one of his caretakers asked him if he needed to go.

Recent events represent two key pieces of the potty training puzzle that we've been waiting for -- peer pressure and real signs that he is ready. Mom and dad have been ready for a long time, but he's been insistent that he's not.

I don't know if the troops will hold, but we're standing our ground as long as the opposition is waving a white flag.

Hideous in Haiti

I've been reading reports about the 7.0-magnitude earthquake in Haiti yesterday and I can't even imagine the devastation that country is going through. The death and destruction there will eclipse the loss of lives and homes that we saw in the United States a few years ago after Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans.

Every time I pulled up the San Diego Union-Tribune Web site today, I saw a picture of a little Haitian boy wearing a ripped and bloody white t-shirt. He stared back at me with vacant eyes, probably because his 7- or 8-year-old mind couldn't comprehend everything that he was seeing and hearing around him.

From what I've read, most buildings in Haiti's capital city Port-Au-Prince, home to 2 million people, have collapsed. Hundreds of thousands of people are trapped inside. Many are dead or injured. Some huddled in tight spaces call out continuously for help, unaware of how extensive the damage is around them. Rescue crews probably don't know where to begin pulling back the rubble to lift people out of the wreckage.

The scene on the streets isn't much better. The lifeless bodies of women and children are laying in piles next to crumbled buildings. Mounds of dead men are covered only by sheets. Children who lost their parents must be wandering the streets trying to understand what happened. There's no one left to hold their hands or hug them so close they can't see the carnage around them and assure them that everything's going to be OK. The adults who are left have their hands full trying to rescue others and look after their own families.

That's how I imagine the fate of that little boy at the top of the newspaper's Web site today. I hope that he still has family of some kind to look out for him, but I know that with estimates of 100,000 to 500,000 dead, chances are not great that he'll see his mom or dad again.

I know I'll hug my own son tight tonight, just to let him know mommy's still here.

How Journalism Works

Most people just don't get how journalism works. Even people in the business world who you would expect to be somewhat savvy -- especially businesspeople, as a matter of fact -- don't understand the role of the reporter and her sources.

I was at an event this morning at which members of the audience were supposed to submit questions for the panel of experts on index cards that were sitting in the middle of our banquet tables. I had a question that was relevant to a story I was turning in today and I thought my fellow audience members might be interested in the panelists' responses, so I wrote it down and handed my card off to the volunteer that was collecting the questions.

After the event, one of the men sitting at my table asked me if I'd gotten a lot of good quotes for my article and I told him that the moderator didn't ask my question. My tablemate's reponse? "I don't think reporters should be able to ask questions at these events." Huh?

Asking questions is part of my job description. I ask people questions, write down the answers, then compile them in a news article. That's how reporting works, but that doesn't stop people from wanting to filter how much of the news ends up in the newspaper even when it comes to comments made in public forums.

Believe it or not, I try to be cognizant of how sensitive people and companies are about the message they're putting out due to the fragile state of the economy. But if you don't want something you say to show up in print, then you shouldn't be speaking at meetings with hundreds of people present, including a couple of newspaper reporters.

And if you're organizing a meeting at which speakers on a panel in front of hundreds of people don't want to be quoted, then don't invite the media. I've been to a few events in the past year or so since the economy really went into the toilet where a representative of the trade association that allowed me to register for the conference stopped me from entering a panel discussion, because someone on the panel didn't want to be quoted.

One organization got it right a few months ago. They called me before I could register for their annual event and let me know that even though they've invited me in the past, they had speakers scheduled for the conference who didn't want to be quoted, so I wouldn't be able to attend this year. "No problem," I think I said. "Thanks for letting me know ahead of time."

Every now and then, I interview someone who asks at the end of the conversation, "Can I read this before you publish it?" or even better, "You're not going to quote me, right?"

My advice to people who are concerned about how they'll sound in print? If you don't trust yourself to speak intelligently and/or you don't trust a reporter to understand and report what you're saying accurately, then don't do the interview. Believe me, you'll be saving yourself and the reporter -- who probably is a pretty nice and reasonable person -- a lot of trouble.

It's Monday ...

It's Monday and I'm tired. Too tired and unmotivated to write here right now.

It's been one of those days where I've done a whole lot without getting a whole lot done. Any writing I've done has been interrupted before I can finish one paragraph, one sentence, one thought.

So, tonight, I'm going to pass on writing in this space so that I can have some space to pass the time with another writing project before I say, "Good night."

Gotta Love a Lazy Day

On day two of serious potty training, we stayed close to home again, venturing out for lunch and even attempting to get our son to use a public bathroom. Jack made it through lunch with dry pants, so it was a success, despite his refusal to pee in the restaurant's restroom.

He pooped in his pants twice at home, but at least it wasn't during lunch. We only had one wet underwear incident at home, but only because daddy waited too long while mommy was at a movie with grandma to put Jack on the potty. Oh well.

We all slept in until 7 a.m. and after a breakfast of eggs and toast spent the rest of the morning in our pajamas, playing and relaxing. For a little while, I got to do some writing while my husband read and my son watched the Bob the Builder video we checked out at the library yesterday. It was a great morning.

I went to see "It's Complicated" with my mom in the afternoon and spent the rest of the evening writing, cooking then eating dinner, writing some more and reading my son to sleep. And now, here I am, writing again. As much as I hate to spend a lot of time in front of the computer when I'm not working, I got to do some writing for myself and not for work, so it was a good day.

Now, I'm going to cap off my day with a low-fat, low-calorie ice cream sandwich. I hope you had a great, relaxing weekend with the people you love too.

Potty Time Part II

We made it through the first day of ready-or-not potty training relatively unscathed. My 3-year-old only had one big accident in his pants and a handful of small accidents and peed on the potty at least half a dozen times.

And even after he pooped in his under wear, leading me to turn the TV off for the rest of the afternoon and stop talking to him for a while, he still told me as we were eating lunch in the living room and waiting for the freshly mopped kitchen floor to dry that I was his best friend. I even got a few unsolicited kisses and an "I love you too" out of him today.

He's wearing a diaper to bed and probably will do that for a while, even when he's got the potty routine down during the middle of the day, but we'll have a second round of all underwear, all the time tomorrow. The fact that a few of his wet pants today were just a tiny bit wet makes me feel encouraged. I feel like progress has been made.

Now, if I could just get him to ask us to go on the potty rather than me asking him if he needs to go or dragging him to the bathroom against his will, then I'd really feel like something was accomplished.

It's Potty Time

After spending $40 on a box of diapers and a box of training pants, I decided last night that I'm ready for some serious potty training, even if my 3-year-old son is not.

Originally, I'd hoped to get him started in preschool when he turned 3, but he wasn't potty trained or anywhere close by the time his birthday rolled around. Now, he's halfway to 4 years old and we're still fighting with him on a daily basis about sitting on the potty.

We hoped that once the other children at daycare started potty training, he'd want to do it too. After all, when the other kids lie down for naps or sit nicely around the table for lunch, so does he. Unfortunately, when it comes to potty time, he's a rebel.

Then, when we were at Target last night and I was looking for the diapers in his size, he pointed at one of the boxes and said, "That's what babies wear." I responded, "Well, you must be a baby then, right? Since you wear diapers, right?" No answer. So, today, we're staying home all day and he's wearing underwear.

Normally, he gets two M&Ms when he pees on the potty and four when he poops. He also gets a little toy or book if he poops. I don't think he's had four M&Ms yet in the three or four months since we instituted the M&M policy.

This isn't the first time we've tested out the underwear, but I'm hoping it will be the first successful event. So, for today's special deal, since we're sitting on the potty in regular intervals to prevent him peeing on the couch, he gets two M&Ms just for sitting on the toilet. He'll get four M&Ms when he pees and four M&Ms plus a toy when he poops. So far, I've managed to not eat any of the M&Ms, but we'll see how long that lasts.

Usually, he wears the diaper training pants all day and a diaper at night. However, he sits on toilet every morning when he wakes up, every night before he gets in the bathtub and whenever else we can coax him on the potty. Maybe with the underwear on today and memories of the other times we've tried underwear and he's peed on himself, he'll start asking us to sit on the potty when he needs to go and I won't have to keep asking him if he's ready. Fingers crossed.

Life's Little Luxuries

Tonight I am basking in the glow of my first facial in several months. My skin is soft, smooth and glowing on my face, hands and feet and my shoulders are loose and relaxed. And when I got home, since I went straight to the spa from work, my lovely husband had dinner waiting for me.

Now, I don't think I've ever paid for a facial out of my own pocket. I only get them when I have a gift certificate and that's not very often. But I got two for Christmas, so I figured it was time to use the gift certificate I got for Mother's Day.

Every time I get a facial, I think I need to find some room in my budget to treat myself every so often. I know in a few days I'll be itching to use one of my remaining gift certificates, but I hate to use them too soon and not have one left when I could really use some time to relax.

Since I can't afford to get facials on a regular basis, I treat myself to $20 pedicures every now and then. And when I come home, like I do after a facial, I feel rejuvenated.

Then again, it doesn't take spa treatments to create a healthy glow. I have the same feeling after a date night with my husband, dinner and a movie with girlfriends, and sometimes even after a "date" with my son at the Children's Museum or the beach when he's been especially lovey-dovey and we've avoided a meltdown.

The point is, we should all take time to relax every now and then. You've got to take a break and enjoy the finer things in life, whether it's a facial, a pedicure, a good movie, great conversation or just a sweet moment with someone you love. When you think about it, it really doesn't take much to make you glow from within. It's that kind of happiness that makes any of us beautiful.

Love With My Best Friend

"Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love." -- Elie Wiesel

I agree with Wiesel, the author and Holocaust survivor, but I would add that the greatest loves of our lives are also the best friends we've ever had.

My husband is more than just my husband. He is my best friend, my closest confident, the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. He knows when I'm truly happy and when I'm sad or angry and he knows when to cheer or cry or yell with me and when to just leave me alone. He knows what it takes to make me happy when I'm not or happy just because he wants to do something that will make me smile.

My husband is my partner in everything we do, from buying and maintaining our home to raising our child. Most of the time -- he is a man, after all -- he knows what needs to be done without my having to ask him to do it. He picks up where I slack off.

Right now, even though he got home from work two hours later than usual, he's playing with our son in his room so that I can finish writing on my blog before it's time to take dinner out of the oven. I didn't have to ask. He knew that if I had just 10 more uninterrupted minutes, I could finish writing this so that I will have a clear head when we sit down to eat.

I've had many great friends throughout my life, some who know a lot of stories about me that my husband doesn't know. And those are memories that I cherish, not because they are secrets that he's not aware of, but because I look forward to sharing each of those little nuggets with him whenever they come to mind. I know that he'll listen, because that's what best friends and great loves do.

Resolutions

One of my Facebook friends asked yesterday what her friends' New Year's resolutions were this year. Hers was to lose weight by eating more food that is good for her and also tastes good.

I have a similar goal along with spending more time with my son and spending more time writing about something other than real estate. My challenge, of course, is that I need more time to spend more time doing all of those things. There just aren't enough hours in the day to fit it all in.

I already squeeze as many hours out of the day as I possibly can. I get up at 4:30 every morning during the work week to go to the gym, so I've managed to train myself to survive on only five hours of sleep, since I go to bed at 11:30.

I get home from work between 4:45 and 5:30 and spend the next six or seven hours writing, checking e-mail, cooking dinner, reading to and playing with my son, getting ready for the next work day and writing some more. During all of that I also manage to check in on Facebook, ask my spouse about his day, pay bills, read and sometimes do a little housecleaning. Thankfully, I have the world's most supportive husband, who lets me sneak in as much writing as I can.

But the writing is going so slowly with the end so far off in the distance that I'm trying to figure out how to fit even more hours in the day. I can't quit my job. I can't get any less sleep. And there's definitely no way I can spend any less time with my husband and child.

So, here it is approaching 6:30 and it's time to start thinking about making dinner, when I really want to work on another writing project instead. If anybody figures out how to cram more hours into a day, survive on no sleep, create clones that can cook and clean, or earn enough money to erase the need to work for someone else, let me know.

Keep Your Misery to Yourself

It's emotionally draining to read day after day in the newspaper about some poor soul, so miserable in his own depression or driven by heated jealousy that he kills his wife and/or children and/or co-workers in a fit of rage. I've always believed that if you're that suicidal, you should just kill yourself and leave innocent people, especially children, out of it.

Last week in eastern San Diego County, a recently fired casino investigator allegedly marched into the gaming commission office at Barona Valley Casino with a shotgun and killed his former supervisor before turning the gun on himself. Fortunately, he ordered all of the bystanders out of the office before he started firing his gun. At least his rage was focused on a single target, but one innocent person was still the victim of his twisted mental state.

Today, a man walked into the lobby of a federal building in Las Vegas and shot two federal court officers, killing one of the men. No motive for the tragedy has been reported. But given the fact that federal buildings tend to be guarded with heavily armed security since the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks in the air, in New York City and at the Pentagon, there is a pretty good chance that he was committing "suicide by cop," since it was likely he'd be gunned down just as he attempted to slaughter the innocent victims around him.

And as the economy has soured, there have been multiple stories of families in dire straits in which one of the heads of the household kills their spouse and children to save them from the shame of foreclosure or bankruptcy and the possibility that they might end up living on the streets. Clearly, depression over their financial status has clouded their mental state so badly that death is preferable to asking for help from family, friends, church or the multitude of social service and nonprofit agencies that offer financial assistance.

I just can't understand how someone has that "Aha!" moment that tells them killing people along with themselves is the best solution to their problems. Wouldn't you rather collect unemployment and scale back your lifestyle than go to jail or die for killing your boss? Or move in with family or seek out affordable housing or maybe be homeless for a short time while your kids go into foster care rather than kill the children you labored for 24 hours to deliver? Or find some other outlet for your love and affection when your lover moves on with her life?

It's easy for me to judge, because I've never been fired, bankrupt or brutally dumped. But when I read stories about these kinds of brutal killings, I can't feel sorry for the person who didn't bother to reach out to someone for help. I do mourn the innocent people who probably would have helped if they'd known how badly their killer was dealing with their loss, shame or jealousy.

Lost in the Shuffle

I resisted the idea of blogs, Facebook, Twitter and other social media, because I wanted to spend my time living my life rather than blogging about it. And that's just what happened to me yesterday when I didn't update my blog -- life caught up with me.

When I started this blog three weeks ago, I made a commitment to myself to write something here every day. I was looking for a place to write on a consistent basis, so I created this space. But a cranky 3-year-old and another writing project threw me off course. One day, I'll talk about that other project here, but I'm not ready for that yet.

Yesterday was the kind of day where I was sitting in my office attempting to check e-mail when my son came in and wanted to sit on my lap and I said, "Jackson, for the sake of my sanity, will you please go watch cartoons in the other room." He turned around with a frown on his face and stomped off to the living room. I felt guilty, of course, but I was also thankful for the five minutes of peace that he gave me.

Some people are surprised that at 3-and-a-half my son still takes naps in the afternoon, but he desperately needs them. If he doesn't get a nap, both Jackson and mommy have a rough evening, especially when he goes to bed very late two nights in a row, doesn't sleep in much either morning then doesn't have a nap. He was so exhausted last night that he was falling asleep at the dinner table and eating macaroni and cheese that I shoveled into his mouth with his eyes closed.

This week I vow to get back on track with my blog, cranky 3-year-old or not. It will be one of my New Year's resolutions, along with losing another 25 pounds or so. Here's to a great 2010 filled with lots of writing!

Oops! Missed One

Well, I skipped my first day since starting this blog. I got too busy with family and friends and other writing projects and I just ... forgot or lost track of time, I suppose.

My husband and I took our son to one of our favorite places in San Diego, the "World Famous" San Diego Zoo. We saw gazelles, tortoises, snakes, bugs, birds, monkeys, hippos and polar bears, the last of which were playing with balls and wrestling under water. We went early enough that several animals were actually out in public view, though many of them were standing at the back of their enclosures waiting to be fed.

Later on yesterday, we humans were the ones bellied up to the trough. We ate pizza, chips and salsa, brownies, peppermint bark, veggies and dip and drank champagne (for me) and beer (for my husband). Our New Years Eve binge rolled over to New Year's Day and a birthday party for my stepfather with pork roast, ham, soup and black-eyed peas. Cooked for hours, usually in a crockpot with a hamhock or bacon, black-eyed peas are a Southern tradition for good luck or prosperity, or both, in the New Year. My friend's German mother makes real sauerkraut and serves it with mashed potatoes and pork chops and/or sausage for money in the new year.

I'll be content with whatever I can get -- love, happiness, peace, health or wealth -- in 2010. A little extra sleep would be nice too.