So far, 2012 has been kind of a weird year. I started it feeling scattered. Writing-wise I was torn between several different projects and opportunities, yet unfocused on any one in particular. I took a temporary position, designing for a Boston ad agency, relegating my formerly flexible writing time to an early morning slot between 5:30 and 7:00. We had a weird, warm winter, and it felt like I woke up in April, not really believing it could somehow be spring again. I hadn’t had to shovel the car out a single time, so how could I have earned spring? My husband and I are in a semi-contented holding pattern with our plans to move. I turned thirty-three a couple of weeks ago, an age that’s neither-here-nor-there. My body’s screaming at me to make a baby already!! but I know now isn’t the right time. Basically, I’ve been feeling utterly lost.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my best friends was visiting, and we went to have our tarot cards read (I live in Salem, Massachusetts—we boast more psychic parlors than ATMs.) She had a pretty illuminating reading, and I’d had an heartening experience before, having my cards done at this same establishment. So I was a bit disappointed when I asked the psychic what he saw for me, career-direction-wise, and the first card he turned was the Fool, upside-down. I thought, That can’t be good.

He went on to tell me that the Fool represents new beginnings, but reversed it could mean my path was uncertain, even hazardous. Maybe not hazardous, I thought, but scattered, sure. I was further annoyed when the psychic finished my reading and basically announced, “You’re already doing fine. Quit worrying about what you’re not doing.”

Say what? I felt like I was treading water, and I’d wanted some signpost to tell me where I was supposed to be heading, upside-down fool that I was. Then I thought about what he’d said, and you know what? He was right. I was doing just fine, writing every day, and I’d narrowed my floundering down to a few select projects that seemed like they’d take me in the right direction. Or any direction.

Not every season is going to bring big news and exciting opportunities. What I’d been seeing as water-treading wasn’t a fruitless, stationary struggle. I was paddling, moving forward, I just couldn’t tell because I don’t yet know exactly what I’m swimming toward. Yet. It’s foggy out here, but I’m writing new words every morning, doing the work, making steady progress, and eventually I’m bound to hit land.

So now spring is officially here, and I’m feeling a bit more at home in my life, and in my holding patterns. I’ve planted some seeds, and now it’s time to be patient and wait to see what blooms in a few weeks’ or months’ time, as long as I keep watering them each day. I’m trying to engage more in my non-writing life, too, doing home improvement projects, running, cycling, picking up some freelance design work, making extra time for social activities. I’m taking some of the eggs out of my writer basket and spreading them around, so this cricket-chirping period doesn’t feel so dispiriting. It’s working! Also, that temp gig is over, so I don’t have to get up at five in order to write, and being well-rested has done wonders for my peace of mind. Funny how that works!

Well, it’s time to scrub and seal the next section of my kitchen grout. Yeah. It’s not as thrilling as landing a three-book contract or scoring an award nomination or seducing an agent, but it’s actually quite satisfying. And my grout is looking pretty damn white. It’s a welcome distraction, anyhow, while I keep paddling and wait to see where all this drifting takes me.

Linda Henderson, I drew your name from my hat this morning–so just send me an email to julietburns@gmail.com with your snail mail and tell me which book you want and I’ll get it in the mail ASAP!!
Today is my birthday, and I am turning 49. My birthday is always a reflective time for me, but especially as this is the last year of my forties, I find myself thinking back on the past decade of my life.
Due to several tragic events, I barely noticed turning 40. 9 months before that big 4-0, I’d lost my dad to cancer. Then a mere 3 months after he died, New York was attacked on 9-11, and then, right around my 40th birthday, my brother-in-law died from ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease).
Mostly, that 12 month period is a blur. I think I was too numb to even really grieve. I remember on the one year anniversary of 9-11 I cried all day. I just couldn’t stop. I think I was crying all the tears I hadn’t cried the whole year and a half before.
Only 2 things stood out for me in that time: My children—who, even when they were a challenge, were always a source of joy for me—and my writing.
I never –EVER thought about being a writer. I always loved to read, but… Believe it or not, after being a straight A, Honor Society student all through school, I made a C in an English Lit class after pouring my heart and soul into papers, so I figured, ok, a writer I am NOT.
I was never cut out for the corporate world. I was fired from several jobs in my 20s for speaking out when I should have stayed quiet—i guess I have a little rebellious streak. My plan had been to go back to school to earn a degree after my youngest entered Kindergarten and maybe get a teaching certificate…
But while I was on bed rest with my last pregnancy in ‘99, I was reading a LOT more than normal, and little by little, a story started forming in my head. But I didn’t start writing it down until January 2001. Since the kids were young, and I was a stay-at-home-mom, the only quiet time I had to devote to writing was late at night. Usually between 10 PM and 2 AM. I’m not sure I ever really thought I’d get published or that I was really serious about it until 2 people I love had 2 very different reactions to my writing. First, a good friend gave me a book on how to write romance novels for my birthday. This was only a month after I started typing on our family’s shared computer. I think it was the first time anyone took my writing seriously. And therefore, it planted a seed that maybe I should take it seriously too. Second, my husband, after I had excitedly relayed something I had learned that day at a meeting, pulled me aside and very seriously said, “You know, Juliet, the chances of you ever really getting published are very slim.”
And that, more than anything, made me determined to do it. If just to prove him wrong.
Anyway, by October of that year, (notice that’s only a month after 911) I’d finished the first draft of my manuscript, joined RWA (Romance Writers of America) and visited my local chapter.
I went to the RWA meeting every month and learned about the craft of writing. Every time I learned something new, and every time I received feedback from a contest or a critique, I revised my manuscript.
In 2004, a month before my 42nd birthday, I sold that manuscript and the rest of this decade of my life has been amazing in terms of my writing career. First, I never thought I’d be able to say that word, “Career” in the same sentence with “I have a”.
Okay, I’m probably boring anyone left still reading this, but I guess this was a roundabout way of saying, as a published author, I’m living a dream I never even thought to dream. The forties may have started out devastating and heartbreaking, but they have ended up being pretty amazing. And this last year of being forty looks to be better than ever.
I’ll go into the fifties awed by what life has in store. You just never know.
To celebrate my birthday I’m giving away a copy of Primal Calling to one commenter and another copy of Seduce and Rescue to another.
Just tell me, has Life ever surprised you?

Watching Survivor the other night, and kibitzing with my husband over our favorites, he said “this is going to be a divisive Survivor season for us, isn’t it?” LOL (I like Boston Rob, and hubby admires Russell’s game). We are competitive people, and we can be very competitive with each other, though over the years we’ve found how to make that more of a plus than a negative. Competition is good and healthy — it sparks you to push yourself a little harder, to do a little better. It can add a little spice to life, and emphasize the things you care about. And let’s face it, it’s fun to win, or to be on the winning side. It’s also nice to see someone deserving win, and to see someone take loss gracefully. But things can get heated in the spirit of competition, and it’s sometimes hard to maintain that cool.

I remember when my in-laws visited, and we all played Cribbage. In Cribbage, you can “muggins” someone and take their points if they are not paying attention. In-laws would politely point out to each other when they had not been paying attention and were horrified at dh and I gleefully muggins-ing each other. We were horrified they would point out the lack of attention and give up the points. Because if you are going to win, you should earn it. This is how we played games with our kids, and I don’t come from a family where you let someone win. I know this makes raising kids difficult, too. I have mixed feelings about the “everyone wins” philosophy when it comes to kids — I know we don’t want kids feeling bad or left out, but really, does it set the right example? If everyone always wins, do they ever get a chance to learn how to lose well, and to know that is okay? (thinking about last week’s Desperate Housewives, which took this up in an really great way).

The only time I find myself angry about a loss is when it seems unfair — like Rob getting voted off because Coach is a weenie…(okay, I’ll stop…). But seriously, Rob is a solid competitor who deserved to be there. Similarly, on shows like the Amazing Race, you have fantastic teams who lose because they get a bad cabbie in the last leg. Total luck of the draw. I guess the appeal of these shows is much like sports, for those of us who enjoy the competition, watching the challenges, and rooting for our favorites, but those things we can’t control that throw everything sideways are so hard to watch.

And of course, we all have the stories of how/when it can get out of hand, especially in the arena of sports (kids sports, in particular). Respect has to be part of healthy competition — the only way a win is worth it is if you are up against a worthy opponent, and while you can dislike losing, you can simultaneously be happy for the other person’s win. I really dislike when players (and fans) treat each other badly. As a Red Sox fan, I don’t root for the Yankees, but I have to respect the team and the fans. They give us worthy opponents, and great games to watch. Being a Red Sox fan wouldn’t be half the fun without the Yankees, after all.

Anyway, this was just something that popped up into my mind to blog about as the baseball season starts, and Survivor hits it’s critical point. Have you ever felt really bad about your team or player losing? I’ll admit it, I was sulky about Rob being voted out, but it’s how the game goes. I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but competition can be a very visceral thing. We’re probably acting out all kinds of archetypal dramas.

It’s 80+ degrees in Syracuse today, so I am probably outside doing yard work with dh — I wonder who will outchop, outclear, outmulch? I will stop by, and if you pop in to share a thought on competition, and it’s part in your life, personality, or reading/writing (or TV watching), I’ll pick someone to receive a copy of my May Blaze, Make Your Move, by the end of the day (just a little contest in the spirit of competition!)