Paris...in the Spring?

Spring Break is fast approaching and I promised myself a vacation before Christmas. I haven't booked one yet - probably my sub-conscious (and conscience) at work. However, the reason I'm actually going to cite is the Last-Minute Deal. Europe is on my list. I cancelled a trip to Spain and France this past fall for financial and a host of other reasons. Although, I think the chief one was fear. The minute it was cancelled I burst into tears and immediately started cooking up plans to get across the Atlantic all over again.

Back to the Last-Minute Deal - they're cheaper, and, for someone like me, who analyzes everything down the bone, who can over think which oatmeal flavor to eat for breakfast, and can worry to the point of physical illness, it's a good spur-of-the-moment decision making tool. Last time, I had seven months to talk myself out of the trip - this time I'll have about three weeks before departure.

Paris seems to be the lucky lady. I feel as though I have to get Paris out of the way before I can truly enjoy any other destination. And, if I only make it to Europe one time, Paris is the place I want to see more than any other.

Now, I have one week before my planned departure date is up for booking and I am nervous wreck. So far today I've felt pretty good about going, but I have moments where I panic. Here are some of the reasons:

Money. This trip will eat into my savings. I don't have a lot of money put back, but at least I have some. This trip won't take all of it, but all the same, I'm a freelance writer and a small private school administrator, I'm not exactly rolling in the dough. What if I need a filling? Ahhhh...see...there's the Type A. Good old "what if?" Be gone!

The book. Always the book. I tell myself I should take the time off and park in front of the computer. Well, I can tell you right now that won't work because if I'm at home I'm going to watch Seinfeld and do other worthless things (I am so NOT calling Seinfeld worthless). Additionally, I will get sucked into other tasks and I'll have people around who will distract me. Plus, I won't unwind, I need to disconnect. My mother (very wisely) suggested I use the trip as a reward - get the book ready and submitted to an agent before you go. In other words, the trip date will be my deadline. Note: I'm not taking my laptop to the other side of the world...I'm just not.

Traveling alone. I will be all by my lonesome. First trip overseas, alone. Is it a good idea? Paris is a well-developed city and I am a smart person. I've visited large American cities and have been able to navigate very well thanks to a little pre-departure research (I must exclude New York from this example - that was five days of perpetual lostness). But, Paris - I don't speak the language and I hear the French are less than helpful when it comes to poor, lost American tourists. Still, I will know my hotel address, will study maps and the metro system, will plan well, and if all else fails, I will bite the bullet and take a cab. I do like the idea of doing this completely alone. It reaffirms my independence and I won't have anyone to please and entertain but myself. So, I can stand in one spot along the Seine for an hour if I want to. I am a people pleaser and I usually put what I want aside to keep everyone else calm and happy, especially on trips.

Homesick. Yes, I do get homesick, although it usually only happens when things don't go well, or when I don't have a home base. A hotel is a home base, it's the place I belong. However, if French people are mean to me if and when I ask them for directions, I could get to missing home and second-guessing my decision. I don't want to have miserable, unhappy memories of Paris - that seems an oxymoron, IT'S PARIS! I can't help but think of Carried Bradshaw in Paris and how unhappy she ended up being. The phone call she made to Miranda, Miranda handing Brady Cheerios. It's visions of the mundane everyday routines that tug on my heartstrings when I get homesick and I know that could happen. Could. And I have no Mr. Big to come rescue me.

World Stability. I'm more than a little concerned about world issues. If the hmmhmm hits the fan, I would like to be on American soil and near my family. However, it appears things will get worse before they get better, so I'd better go while I can. I could travel domestically and the hmmhmm could hit the fan and I would still be away from home. I do still trust the American government...sort of, so I guess if there is a catastrophe and I'm overseas (with hundreds of thousands of other Americans) they've got a plan to get us home, keep us safe, etc.

Plain old guilt. This is weird, but I have so much guilt. My parents and my sisters have never gotten to travel internationally, so why should I get to? Money plays a role in the guilt, too, but I already talked about that.

When it comes right down to it - I want to go, so badly, and in spite of all the reasons above. I can dispel them all. I'm just going to trust in God. If I'm not supposed to go, I know He'll put up a roadblock.

Crush

Remember that Jennifer Page song? It's just a little crush...

There's just something about having a crush that gives you butterflies, huh? It's far less satisfying than the feeling you get when you're in an actual, meaningful relationship, but it's still nice to have someone to look forward to seeing everyday - I know this is true for girls. So, it seems fitting this Valentine's Eve to talk about love, or like, anyway.

Usually, about spring time, I start getting nostalgic about past relationships, and I lose some of my passivity when it comes to dating. This year, it came a little early. Many of my friends and family (okay, most) don't know I did this. I kept it under wraps because it has an aroma of desperation, but, I recently subscribed to an on-line dating service. It didn't work out, and I've since cancelled the membership. However, for about three weeks, I talked to one person, and that non-reproducible, gives-you-butterflies, air of possibility hung thick around me. I met this person, and that feeling quickly evaporated. Proof that ignorance is bliss.

That was a few weeks ago and the nostalgia subsided. Now, though, thanks to the weather, it's making a comeback. Spring time brings the cool, but not too cool mornings that seem to lend a clarity and cleanness to the whole day. Oddly, (this is East Texas, so not really odd at all) those days have been a part of this February's meteorological tapestry. Lately, I've found myself driving with windows down and sun roof open listening to my favorite old crush songs. When I get home in the evenings, I want to go for runs and walks and get out in the boat, and I expect to smell the grill fired up, a sign that summer is approaching. I'm just happy these days, and I want to share it with someone. The analyst in me says that with spring comes renewal, therefore my animal instincts are kicking in telling me to be fruitful and multiply. I can assure you, I have no intention of acting on these instincts. I write it all off to spring fever, just looking for a new element to entertain me until summer gets here.

Although, another theory I have, this time around anyway, is that my book is influencing me. Is it possible to have a crush on a fictional character? I think it is. I've always had a thing for Rhett Butler. But what about a character I've created? This is erring on the side of schizophrenia, so I won't linger here long. The love interest in my book is a Puerto Rican district attorney and the personality (and looks) I've created for him makes me wish he was a real person. I guess that's a sign that my book is engaging. If I, as its creator, can get that wrapped up in the story as I'm writing it, it stands to reason others will, too.

Yet another explanation for this onslaught of mushiness, is that every acquaintance I've run into lately has asked me if I've gotten married. I used to get defensive about these inquiries, but now I shrug it off. I'm very happy with my life. I've been happy with it for quite some time, in spite of not being married or in a serious relationship. So, I really don't think that's the explanation, either.

The culprit is most definitely the time of year, the romance in the air, and I'm not complaining. I even worry that once I'm permanently attached, I won't get this feeling anymore. But, then I remember that I'm waiting for God to send Him, and whatever He has planned for me is so much better than anything I can find or produce on my own. In other words, something wonderful is on the way - even more wonderful than a crush.

Getting off the multi-tasking

Since junior high, I've challenged myself to see just how much I can accomplish all at once. Seventh grade is when I discovered I could shave my legs and wash my face while I let my conditioner set for three minutes. Years later I would study notecards while driving back and forth to school. Not safe, but productive.

Multi-tasking. It was an epidemic about 15 years ago. Oprah talked about it and it snowballed into efficiency reform. I'm good at it, it's the chief reason I'm able to get so much done in 24 hours. I also love it, if I could multi-task while sleeping, well, I would. However, my need to constantly be marking something off my to-do list is starting to take its toll.

While driving to work this morning, I flipped on the radio. It was tuned to a Christian station, and instead of enjoying the song and taking the opportunity to meditate on God and spiritually prepare for my day, I automatically thought to myself, "I need to print this lead sheet and learn the song." (I am the keyboard player at my church.) This thought quickly turned into guilt for not having had prasie & worship rehearsal in several weeks, and soon I was stressed out, I had that feeling in my stomach of worry - the kind I get when a writing deadline is looming, and the words I'm staring at on the screen are not quite article quality. When I realized what I was doing to myself, I made a conscious effort to stop. It worked, in this instance. Most often, the matter is slightly more serious. Work-work, and writing-work have to get done at some point and I can't help but think about those tasks constantly when they are unfinished and incomplete.

Sadly, the past few "vacations" I've taken have either revolved around work, or I've had a writing deadline, meaning my laptop came along with me. A constant reminder that I could not completely unwind and relax. My trip to New Orleans was really for the purpose of researching my book, which is set in the Crescent City. A recent trip to Houston was to attend a conference hosted by the magazine for which I am a regular contributor. I enjoyed both of these trips and found time to do fun things, but nevertheless, I didn't get a "break" from everything, which is what is truly recuperative about a vacation.

My standard days are much the same. When I step from the shower and walk back into my bedroom to get ready, I turn cell phone, television and computer on, thus opening myself wide up for stress. I often work through lunch instead of being social. In the evenings, I won't allow myself to rest until I've done some writing and engaged in some form of exercise. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've actually tried to pray while doing crunches.

Case in point, it's time I learn to relax and disconnect guilt free, and that means I don't have to multi-task 24 hours a day. It's alright to not be accomplishing something. This new initiative will commence tonight, during The Office.

Faith

Yesterday I wrote about fear, so today it seems fitting to write about its defeater, faith.

A terrible line of storms, stretching from Corpus Christi, Texas, into Kansas pushed its way east last night. Ordinarily, storms do not bother me. But, this one had the media in a tizzy and had produced at least on life-ending tornado by the time I went to bed. It didn't reach my neck of the Piney Woods until after midnight, but when it did, it was loud, fast, and fierce enough to send me running away from windows. The lights flickered, debris hit the roof, and a terrifying whistling filled the air. I paused, waiting for the house to begin shaking, anticipating my roof being ripped off above me.

As humans we fear. We have since it was introduced with sin in the Garden of Eden. I prayed before I went to bed last night, I prayed for protection from that very storm. How quickly I forgot, how easily I neglected my faith. I remembered it soon enough, though. When the initial scare was over, I relaxed and spoke the name of Jesus and was able to fall back to sleep, and when my alarm went off this morning, I instinctively said "thank you."

How lucky we are that God doesn't forget us. I forget that He has promised to provide for and protect me, but He's never once let me down.

When the challenges of my day start accumulating, and they always do, it is so simple to not only get frustrated, but to also show that frustration, thus potentially ruining an opportunity to witness. One such incident happened just this morning. I've had an issue with one person in particular for some time now and my buttons were pushed today. And for some reason, no doubt the prayer-answering God I serve, I remembered that they don't do it unto me, they do it unto Him. And, in the words of my Aunt Wilma, "God don't like ugly."

I've got no control over this person's actions. Sure, in my human profession I can exercise some power, but ultimately, it is in God's hands. I remembered this and relaxed. He's got it under control and I just need to focus on pleasing Him.

This experience today is special to me, in part because I've struggled on my walk as of late. My faith and convictions have been challenged over the past few weeks. But when God ever so subtly reminds me that He hears my prayers, that He is ever-present and willing to stand by me and strengthen me, worship swells in my soul. Isn't it amazing, humbling, wonderful, to know that no matter how far we stray, no matter how much we may change, God remains the same. Even when we are far, He is near. He is my rock.

Fear

Okay, I have given myself a deadline of Thursday for submitting a query of the book to an agent. I am terrified. . .of rejection.

I sent a query to an agent last Spring, before the book was really even off the ground, and it was of course turned down, and I completley understand why. For one reason, the particular agent was one of the biggest names in the industry (it's a miracle he even accepts unsolicited queries). Another is, he was a secular agent and I now know this book belongs in the Christian market, as do I as its author. Then there's the fact that it just wasn't a good query. I didn't know where the story was going yet. I rushed things.

I remember the sentence "I'm going to pass" staring at me from my e-mail. It was a really terrible feeling and I really don't want to feel it for a second time. I worry I'm rushing the submission again, maybe I should keep working on it. However, if I don't give myself some sort of deadline, I won't ever do it. And, how will I ever know if the book is ready unless I put it out there? Still, the thought of it not being good enough for this agent scares me, and I'm not scared of much. Yes, there are other agents, but I really like this one. I have one chance. If the first sentence of my book doesn't wow her, she will stop reading and send me THAT sentence.

Several people have read the first two chapters, which is what I have to submit along with my pitch. They've all liked it and said it made them want to read the rest of the book. But, they're not the agent. Their paycheck and reputation is not at stake. I can't read it anymore because I'm no longer objective. I know I have to preserve my own voice and style, but I find myself comparing my first pages to Patricia Cornwell books to see if I cover the same elements up front. That's not healthy because there is already a Patricia Cornwell. I want the world to read Rachel Dawn Allen.

Monday, Monday

Holy cow! This day has already been insane. I miss the crisp, clearly defined seasons of the Northwest. Let me explain...I started my day on the assumption that this afternoon would be a sunny (dry) 69 degrees, and therefore straightened my hair. Then, what do I hear, the pitter patter of rain on the roof top. I put my hair in a clip - doesn't look good. I put my hair in a ponytail - also does not look good, and (here's where the Type A kicks in) slightly unprofessional, I think. Hair goes back down.

Meanwhile, I have an article due next week that I desperately needed to send out for fact checking this morning. So in between hairstyles, I was trying to upload the article and hunt down e-mail addresses for an architect, pastor and contractor.

On to the wardrobe malfunctions!! EVERY ITEM OF CLOTHING I PUT ON HAD SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT. It is now more than ten minutes past my standard departure time. I am never late. (Another Type A characteristic.)

In the car, driving to work. Get behind the slowest person ON the planet. Get to work 15v minutes late - after receiving at least one text message that a staff member was out sick, making this the 134th day in a row that we've had absenteeism in either our school or daycare (that's another post). (Yes, I like to use parentheses.)

Nevertheless, I am keeping a smile on my face because I never know who might be watching to see how I react. I love my life, challenges and all. I love the people I work with, even when they get sick. I am truly honored to fill the role that I do, so much that I cant' quite come up with the words to describe it. I'll work on that and tell you later.

Hello again

The title of this post is also the title of a Shelley Long movie. If you haven't seen it, Netflix it immediately. Long chokes on a Chinese chicken ball and comes back to life, only to find a cheating husband. It's quite good, with just the sort of Seinfeld-like randomness I enjoy.

On to the matter at hand. It's been about 18 months since I last posted to this blog, and it's time I get started again. I have a completed novel saved on the very computer I write from today. This novel is the primary reason I haven't posted for a year and a half. I am planning to query agents about the book this week. It's been "finished" since before Christmas, but I have procrastinated because I fear rejection. I have been editing and editing, knowing perfection is what it will take to get it published, but I fear I will start picking it to death. So, to the hands of an agent it shall go and hopefully this person will fall in love with it and decide to represent me. However, all I've heard lately is how the publishing industry is tightening its belt and only accepting truly extraordinary work, therefore literary agents are becoming much more scrutinizing concerning the work they will take on. True to form, I am worried.