Very Interesting

"Interesting" is my most overused word. Actually, it's my stalling tactic.

When I'm interviewing a source and there's a pause in the conversation as I finish typing what they just said and try to remember what else I was going to ask, I usually say something along the lines of, "It'll be interesting to see ..." or "It's been an interesting time" or "What I thought was interesting was ..."

I cringe every time I hear that word come out of my mouth. It's like fingernails on a chalkboard, like when someone says, "That's different" when they see or hear about something they've never seen before or that they don't understand or just don't like. I always feel like asking, "Why don't you just say it's ugly or noisy or stupid?"

It'll be interesting to see if I come up with some other placeholder for my conversations besides "interesting." Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be "different."

Just Stopping By ...

Today was one of those days when I worked like crazy in the office and still accomplished very little. I've been relaxing at home all night doing a little writing, a little cooking and a little hanging out with my husband and son. Now I'm going to do some more writing until a) I start to fall asleep at my computer or b) it's time to go to bed so I can get my usual five hours of sleep before I get up and go to the gym then go to work. So, I'm just stopping by here to check in. I don't have anything terribly exciting to say, because I'm itching to get back to another project. Until tomorrow ...

Blind Journey

"I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it." -- Rosalia de Castro, Galician writer

I saw this quote today at the bottom of one of the many commercial real estate and finance newsletters that I get via e-mail. I think it was meant to inspire investors to go ahead and spend the money they've stockpiled, even if they're unsure about the returns they're likely to get from their investment, but I thought it was a fitting description of my own writing path.

Until the middle of last year, my writing for a very long time was limited to the news articles that I compose for work. But, around June or July, I started working on other projects as a sort of experiment.

I've always said I didn't think I had a novel in me. Yet out of a desire to branch out of my professional focus on commercial real estate for the past 10 years, I started working on a couple of different stories to see where they would take me. Since then, one story fizzled out, another is nearing an end and a third is waiting for me to pick up where that trail left off. I've got my eyes on a couple of other paths that look interesting too.

I don't know where this journey is -- or these journeys are -- going to take me, if anyone will read these stories besides me, if anything will come out of these projects other than a lot of late nights and missed sleep, but I'm excited to see what happens when I get to the end of the road.

Disgusted

I am completely disgusted with myself. I spent the entire day writing an article that should have been a piece of cake, because I was on and off the phone all day. I have two harder stories to turn in tomorrow by noon. I think I'm going to let all of my calls go to voice mail so I can get some work done. Either way, I'm likely to miss my deadline by a wide margin. I'm already disappointed in my poor performance and Wednesday hasn't even started yet. Can I go to bed and sleep until it's Saturday? That would be great. Thanks

Perspective

I started my day listening to a speech by the president of the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, which was also covered by reporters from national business media wire services. I got to ask the speaker about U.S. monetary policy in relation to commercial real estate issues. I was feeling pretty smart, despite being in a fog from a bad night's sleep.

When I got home from work, after telling my husband how interesting Janet Yellen's speech was, I asked my son if he went pee-pee on the potty today at daycare. And then I thought, gee that kind of puts things in perspective.

We've got these major issues throwing the global financial system into disarray and leading to the unemployment of millions of people, but really my biggest concern is how my three-year-old is doing with his potty training. Of course, while I'm in the office tomorrow, my biggest concern will be translating the San Francisco Fed president's speech into a concise account of her stance on unemployment trends and commercial real estate.

Sure, a healthy economy and the free flow of capital to businesses and consumers helps all of us, but the key issue affecting my life today is the challenge of getting my son to go to the bathroom in the toilet, rather than in his pants, before he turns 4 years old and we visit my in-laws in Iowa in June. It's nice to keep these things in perspective.

Writing Day Breakthroughs

Thanks to a rainy day and my wonderful husband, I have spent most of the day writing and finally have some clarity on a big project I've been working on. It's been coming together nicely for a while, but I see now where I need to leave some things alone and tighten other things up.

And with spending most of the day at home, we've made some progress on the potty training front. We were already planning a trip to visit my in-laws in Iowa this summer, but today we told Jack that he could ride on an airplane in a couple of months if he goes pee-pee on the potty all the time.

We've been trying to get him motivated with the promise of going to preschool, but that only works sometimes. Today, with the possibility of flying on an airplane, he used the potty several times and even told us a few times when he needed to go. I'll take whatever progress I can get!

Late Night Quiet

My favorite time to write is after my son has gone to bed and my husband has turned off the TV in favor of reading a book.

But it is now midnight, my husband is in bed and I'm tired too. It's raining and making me more exhausted than ever.

I'll be back in front of the computer every chance I get tomorrow during the day and night between playing with my son and cleaning my house. Good night peace and quiet.

Writing Jealousy

I'm still slowly making my way through Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird" and I find myself disagreeing with her on some points, even when she makes me laugh in the way that I wish I could make other people giggle with my own writing.

The last chapter I read was about jealousy. She writes about being jealous of other writers or friends who are writers who end up having very successful books.

I don't think the intense jealousy that she describes after her friend wrote a book that did extraordinarily well is something that I have to worry about. Maybe it's because I don't have other friends who are writing anything more than newspaper articles, that I know of, but I think it's because I deal with jealousy differently than Lamott.

I'd like to think that I would be happy for any of my friends or family members who might sell a book even if I was a little envious.

I do feel jealous of people like Lauren Conrad who go from being a wealthy socialite to a wealthy reality TV star to a wealthy fashion designer to a very wealthy best-selling author. I haven't read either of her books, but I don't have a lot of confidence in the quality of her novels, given her previous lack of writing experience (that I know of).

Then again, maybe they are well-written, highly entertaining and compelling stories and I just want them to be terrible so I can feel better about myself. Maybe one day I'll break down and read "L.A. Candy" to figure that out. Just what Lauren needs, my $10 or $15 from buying her novel when it comes out in paperback.

Hopefully I'll never get so invested in my writing that I'll need to see a shrink, like Lamott, to deal with my jealousy over other writers' successes. For now, I'll just let that kind of envy push me to work harder and write better.

Funny Writing

I wish I could write funny. I have a very dry, very sarcastic sense of humor that doesn't translate well in print.

Sometimes I think I've come up with a pretty clever line, but almost every time I go back and read it, it's not as funny as it was in my head when I heard it in my tone of voice with the right inflection on a certain word that made it a humorous bit of text.

I'd take a class in humorous writing if I had the time and if I thought I could learn something, but I'm not sure funny is something that can be taught. Either you are or you aren't, you don't learn it. Well, you can learn physical comedy, but a pratfall is another one of those things that doesn't translate well in written form.

I guess that just means I have to become a famous writer and then I can do television interviews and people can see just how funny I am -- or at least how funny I think I am. Unfortunately, funny, like beauty, is probably in the eye or ear of the beholder.

Vegging Out

While I ate my lunch at the office today, I read a chapter in "Bird by Bird," Anne Lamott's book about writing, called "Listening to Your Broccoli." The point of the chapter was to clear your mind and listen to your inner writing voice when you're looking for direction .

After working late to finish a story about complex financial concepts, I didn't rush to the computer to check my e-mail or read the news, like I normally do when I get home. Instead, I talked to my husband, ate dinner, folded laundry, read to my son and relaxed for a while. I actually sat down and watched a movie, one that I've seen 10 times already, but it was one of those brainless kind of things that makes me smile.

Tonight my broccoli told me to take it easy. I needed to veg out. Hopefully, it will give me the energy I'll want tomorrow night to keep working some of my other writing projects.

Reflecting on Love

I was smiling as I watched a pair of high school students ahead of me in the line to buy a sandwich today. It was a boy and a girl, probably juniors or seniors, because they seemed mature.

They were a sweet couple, the kind who've probably been dating for a while or were friends for a long time before they became boyfriend and girlfrien. There was none of that awkwardness that you see between two young people who don't have a lot of experience interacting with the opposite sex.

I could see the boy's face more than the girl's. He was tall, but he slouched a little, not out of shyness, but so that he could keep his eyes level with his girlfriend's. While they determined what kind of sandwich they were going to share, he would lean in every now and then and give his girlfriend a little kiss on the lips, putting one of his hands on her waist or lower back to do so.

He touched her without any hesitation, with a level of familiarity that you see in people who've been dating for a while. She didn't flinch when he kissed or put his hands on her, because she was obviously use to it.

The boy was smiling as he talked to his girlfriend, his appreciation for the girl reflecting off of her on his face as he spoke animatedly and gestured wildly. The girl had her back to me most of the time, but when I did catch a glimpse of her through her long blonde hair, she looked like she was grinning too.

I smiled as I watched them, because I recognized that feeling of joy and satisfaction and confidence that comes from having the full attention of the person you love most focused on you. I'm glad that I get to experience it firsthand every day when my husband greets me as I get home from work or my son sees me walk in the door to pick him up from daycare. And I'm glad when other people get to feel that special in someone else's eyes too.

Lovely Day

My day was fantastic in that I didn't have any major tantrums to deal with, but otherwise it was relatively unremarkable.

After making and eating breakfast, folding laundry, playing trains and coloring with my son before showering so that we could go outside in the sunny and warm weather, we went to the nearby Santee Lakes park. I'd never been there before, but I'm glad that we went.

It's a very un-California park. There are lots of trees and grass, making it feel more like a lakefront park in Minnesota, except for the 75-degree temperature in the middle of February. It was very quiet there today too. The frequent interruptions limited to light winds rustling the leaves in the trees were the only disruptions -- and welcome ones at that -- in the peaceful setting.

Jack and I checked out two of the four playgrounds within the linear park, ate our lunch at a picnic table under a tree at the second playground, played on the slides then checked out the multitude of ducks swimming in the pond.

A woman feeding the ducks from two loaves of bread let Jack have a couple of slices so that he could tear off pieces of bread and throw them to the ducks. Each time one of the ducks ate a sliver of the white bread, Jack laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

Afterward, he was thrilled to spend a couple of hours playing with his grandma and grandpa while I went to a hair appointment, dropped books at the library and returned something at Target. I'm sure Jack -- and grandma and grandpa -- will sleep well without having had a nap. Mommy will probably rest well too after such a relaxing day.

Unnecessary Roughness

As we watched the initial reports from the Olympic Games in Vancouver tonight, my husband and I were shocked to see video of Nodar Kumaritashvili, the Georgian luger, who died in an accident during a practice run.

Not only did NBC show the crash in which Kumaritashvili flew off the track and hit his head on a concrete or steel beam supporting the luge course, they showed the footage repeatedly and in slow motion.

There are times in journalism when there is a fine line between how much of a gruesome story should be revealed to the public. We don't report the names of criminal suspects under 18 years old, in most cases, and we don't reveal the names of victims of sexual assault.

And we try to keep the blood and gore to a minimum. There's a difference between showing victims of the earthquake in Haiti walking around with bloodied heads after crawling from the rubble of their homes and showing the bloodied lifeless victims of drive-by shootings lying in the street or bodies covered by sheets on the side of the road after major car crashes.

There is a pretty distinct line, I think, and NBC crossed it when they showed Kumaritashvili being thrown from the luge track and careening headfirst into the solid column. The footage included the scene that followed when medics rushed to the athlete's side and attempted to revive him while he had blood covering his face.

In the telling of the story, I don't think it was necessary to show the world the gory details of this man's last moments. It's traumatic for his family, who are forced to relive his tragic end over and over with sports replay commentary, and troubling for parents sharing the excitement of the Olympic Games with their children.

In deciding what video was appropriate to air about this terrible tragedy that will no doubt hang over the Olympics this year and be replayed repeatedly, NBC made a bad call.

Three Years Old

Whenever someone asks me how old my son is and I tell them he's 3 years old, they almost always say, "That's such a fun age." They can only say that with a straight face, because they don't have a 3-year-old living with them.

I'm pretty sure I like 2 years old better than 3. Back then, we weren't terribly concerned about his not wanting to go through potty training. Now, it's a constant stand-off between us and him regarding everything from potty training to eating his dinner to picking up his toys to leaving any given store without getting a treat.

That's one of those parenting things that's backfired on us. If he's good and sits in the cart at Target or the grocery store, then he can pick a toy from the dollar bins or get a cookie from the bakery. Now, every time we go into any store, he thinks he's entitled to a treat. So, we argue with him half the time when we leave, because he's begging for a treat.

Sometimes, when people ask me how he's doing, I simply say, "Well, he's 3." For anyone who's ever had a 3-year-old son, they know exactly what I'm talking about without elaboration.

I know he's at an age where he's trying to assert his independence at home. I just wish he'd do it independently, without needing mine or my husband's attention to validate he's status. At this point, I can't wait until he turns 4.

Can't ... Write ... Another ... Word ...

Ack! I can't do it. I just can't write one more word today. So, until tomorrow ...

You Know You're Sick of Writing When ...

You know you're sick of writing when you come home from work and you're perfectly happy sitting down in front of the TV to watch preschool cartoons like "Wow, Wow Wubzy" with your 3-year-old.

Or, when you're willing to wash dishes -- one of your least favorite things in the world -- rather than subject yourself to more writing.

Or, when you're sitting in traffic for an hour on slick roads in rain so hard your windshield wipers can barely keep up and you're thinking, "Thank God I'm not sitting in front of a computer anymore!"

I was struggling with a bear of a story at work today and will continue to wrestle with it tonight. And as you can see ... here I sit, procrastinating for as long as I can.

Not So Miserable

I've been reading a lot about writing in the words of other authors. One thing that strikes me is how miserable their craft makes them. It sounds like they really struggle with words and wallow in frustration until they have those few days that make the insufferable weeks and months worth everything they endure.

All of that misery makes me question if I'm really a writer or if I'm a writer, but not a very good one. Sure, I have frustrating days where I'm too tired to write clear sentences or my thoughts are too muddy to string together the right words, but those are fewer in number than the good writing days.

As long as I know where I want the story to go, the words flow pretty steadily. I go back and read through later and revise, but the gist of it comes out the way I wanted it to the first time around. I don't often find myself staring at my computer screen not knowing what to write. That doesn't mean I won't go back and alter something to take it in a slightly different direction later, but I don't have to rewrite it completely.

I feel the most frustration when I'm trying to write in a finite amount of space about something complicated like finance or law. When I get home and sit in front of my personal computer and have no limits on what I can write, the boundaries of newspaper writing and constraints of commercial real estate matters lift and I'm free to write as much or as little on whatever subject I choose. Somehow it's less challenging.

My relative confidence makes me worry that I'm not a real writer, since I'm not suffering for my art. I suppose that makes my biggest frustration the lack of misery that I feel as I sit here night after night stringing words together. I just hope the finished product that I manage to feel so good about doesn't make other people miserable when they read it.

Getting in the Mood ... For a Little Writing

I've been attempting to prepare my writing palate for a while now. This blog gives me little tastes every day (or every other day, as it happens sometimes).

Last weekend I bought the perfect journal to write down random thoughts or ideas for new stories or tidbits for things I'm already working on. I spent a few days writing the first chapter or two of a story based on a prompt from a magazine and outlined the rest of the story. Unfortunately, I haven't written anything else in the book for four or five days, but I run my fingers over it when I take my planner out of my purse. It's waiting there patiently for me to pick it up and jot down something new.

Today I bought Anne Lamott's book on writing called "Bird by Bird." So far, I've only read the names of the chapters, but I'm looking forward to her guidance giving me a little flavor for some of the things I've already got going or ideas I think I might want to write.

For now, the taste is fleeting, but I know it's there and will come back. I try to hold it in my mouth as long as I can whenever the writing mood strikes. I've just taken a week to finish reading a book by one of my favorite authors and then about two-thirds of another book before I dive back in to the big project I already have in the works.

The table's all set and I've got something brewing on the stove, but I still need to add the spice. I still trying to decide which ones are missing. Right now, it's something I'm cooking just for me. I haven't decided who else I'm going to invite to the table just yet.

Treading Water

I worked steadily all day long at the office today without taking a lot of breaks or slacking off. I crossed things off of my to-do list as I went, but somehow still only accomplished half the things I set out to do.

It was sort of like the dreams I used to have where I was running and running as fast as I could, wearing myself out and ratcheting up my heart rate, without getting ahead of my attacker or reaching my destination.

Somehow I managed to keep my head above water today, but I didn't propel myself forward. I was just treading water.

Oh, well. At least I didn't get pulled under by a rip current.

Musical Regression

When I look at some of the most recent additions to my iPod, it looks like I might be regressing to my teenage years. I've added some Taylor Swift and Kelly Clarkson. A while ago I downloaded a bunch of Cyndi Lauper songs that would've been popular about 25 years ago, but based on those songs, I might be regressing to my elementary school years.

I was thinking about some of my recent music choices last night when I couldn't get Taylor Swift's "Fifteen" out of my head. I haven't purchased that song yet, but I do have "You Belong to Me." Both songs have to do with high school crushes.

I've also been ridiculously obsessed with Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" book series since May. And in some of my recent recreational writing I've plucked splinters of memories from my high school days to create characters or story lines. Does that mean I'm having a midlife crisis, trying to relive my "glory" days? God, I hope not. For the most part, I hated high school.

But, I do like a good love story, which explains the appeal of "Twilight" and the Taylor Swift songs. I also like music that's fun to listen to and sing along with in the car when I've a) had a really good day or b) need to blow off steam from a really bad day. And really, there's no other way to sing a song like Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You" than screaming it at the top of your lungs in the privacy of your own car.

When I get too worried about my musical regression, I scroll through the playlist on my iPod and look at the variety of music there. I take pride in the odd indie rock or jazz or classic country -- every woman needs a little Patsy Cline in her life.

I can't decide what my musical taste says about me, but it's fun to pick a different soundtrack for my life every day.

Dinner Disaster

I made Stuffed Peppers Mole for dinner tonight. It's a recipe I got a couple of years ago out of Better Homes & Gardens and usually my husband and I enjoy it.

The recipe is just what it sounds like: bell peppers stuffed with a mixture of ground beef (or ground turkey in our house), corn, rice and cheese with a dollop of mole sauce mixed in. Tonight, I substituted rice with black beans and added sauteed onions and a can of diced tomatoes. I also used a different brand of mole sauce than I normally do. I think that was where everything went wrong.

Maybe I should've known that the new mole sauce was a mistake when I couldn't figure out how to open the strange lid. The directions in Spanish, which I don't read or speak, didn't help. My husband, who had three years of high school Spanish, was no help either. He managed to pry the lid off with a spoon, but sent the layer of oil on top of the sauce flying all over himself, the kitchen floor and our son, who walked into the room at just the right moment.

When all was said and done, not only was the meal too spicy due to the unknown brand (again, the Spanish-only directions on the jar should have been a warning), but it was too hot. Searing hot. Steam didn't stop rising from our plates until we were nearly done eating. I don't know why it wouldn't cool down.

The fact of the matter is that this was not my first cooking mishap and I am supremely confident that it won't be my last. But just like writing and most anything in life, I'll keep pulling out my frying pan and giving it a go.

Gotta Get Away

I've always enjoyed the irony in all the trouble that people go through to have children, because it's been my experience that once the baby arrives you spend a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how to get away from the child.

In the very beginning, you want to spend every waking minute cuddling with and cooing with your newborn. Then after the euphoria wears off, you'll do anything to get more than two hours of sleep in one stretch. And it's pretty much guaranteed that when an infant is awake during the day, it's the exact moment that his or her caretaker wanted to be in the shower.

After a few months, mom and dad want to spend some time alone, so they call grandma and grandpa or the nearest aunt or uncle to babysit. Inevitably, a week later, you get an invitation to go out for dinner with friends. Craving a conversation with adults other than your spouse, you need to find another babysitter that's not still traumatized from the first babysitting attempt.

Once you get used to having the kid around, you have to try and figure out when you're going to clean the house, because if you wait until after your child goes to sleep for the night, you're too exhausted to scrub toilets or mop floors. Or, you need to go Christmas shopping and it would be much easier to do it kid-free. Or, you want to get that pedicure and hour of peace and quiet that you've been fantasizing about. It never ends.

It's one of life's vicious circles, I guess. And no matter how you handle, there's typically some sort of guilt involved. For me, the guilt comes from dropping my son off at my parents house so I can spend time alone with my husband on a Saturday night, even though Jack has spent Monday through Friday separated from us in daycare. Or leaving him with his dad for a couple of hours so that I can get that heavenly pedicure when I know Jeff is just as tired as I am from working all week and taking care of a 3-year-old.

Even though I appreciate those moments away from my son, I appreciate him even more. I just try to convince myself that getting those brief moments of solitude make me a better, much more relaxed mother.

So Many Things, So Little Time

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly time flies by and how easily my brain expunges the items on my to-do lists -- like writing on my blog -- on a regular basis. I wasn't so busy that I couldn't write here last night; I just forgot.

I got home a little later than usual from work, sat down on the couch to finish something I was working on in my new journal, cooked and ate dinner, checked e-mail, read to my son, finished something for work then laid down in bed to read for a while before falling asleep early. I was exhausted, because I went to bed the night before at 11:45 and still got up yesterday morning at 4:30 to go to the gym.

That's why I'm writing a quick update now and hoping that I remember to post something new here tonight. See you soon!