Not Like the Other Girls – and I’m cool with that now

First off, I just have to comment on how great and brave Shana’s post was earlier this week. It was really touching and incredibly impacting.

On the theme of weight…

I spent most of my childhood getting called fat by the other kids at school. For a long time, that wasn’t really true. But I had chipmunk cheeks. And that gives you a certain look.

I hit puberty early, and when it hit, it sucker punched me. I gained a lot of weight. Probably 60 + pounds in only a few months. I was twelve when that happened and let me tell you, other kids were not kind about the change in me. I’d always been picked on for my weight, but it got worse.

But I was a pretty strong kid and I had a sassy mouth, and whatever got dished out to me, I had no problem giving back. The taunting was never the worst part. It was the subtle things.

When I was a teenager, there weren’t plus sized junior’s clothes, at least not where I lived. That meant not only having a different body type than ALL of my friends, but not being able to wear what they did either. Gloria Vanderbilt jeans from Montgomery Ward’s with a stretch waistband? What thirteen year old girl doesn’t want those!? (Me. I didn’t. But I had them. Because…hey, I had to wear pants!)

I remember feeling like I couldn’t go to a party and eat like everyone else. Because while my friend who weighed 100 pounds could eat whatever she liked and no one would care, I, at 200 pounds couldn’t. Because I was afraid people would watch me eat that fourth slice of pizza and think: That’s why she’s fat.

Then there was the time I was at drama class and we were all in costume. A friend, for some reason, put on a pair of my pants and came out of the dressing room. They were huge on her. They looked like clown pants. And she was laughing, so was everyone else. Not at me, I don’t think anyone translated it to me. She had huge pants on, it was funny. But not to me. They fit ME.

I had friends. People were nice to me. But there were all sorts of ways that I was reminded, on accident or not, that I wasn’t like all the other girls.

This is the kind of crap that follows you, I know it’s followed me. Through my 60 + pound weight loss and into adulthood, it’s followed me. You absorb that stuff. It becomes a part of you. This idea that you’re wrong. That everyone looks better than you. That you’re deficient in some way.

I’ll admit that I’m often still self-conscious about what I eat in front of other people. That I’m very critical of myself.

I think I’m finally getting better. In part because I have a husband who is so free with compliments, and in part because I’m getting older and realizing how I look at other people. How little their weight matters to me. I don’t care what someone else eats, what their scale says, what the number on the tag in their dress is, so why do I think people are obsessed with me and mine? They aren’t. That’s just my old thinking coming back to bite me.

Oh, teenage angst, will you ever really leave?

I was reading the comments for Shana’s post and I saw that she mentioned the fallacy that we’ll hit a magic weight and somehow all will be right. I know I’ve done that. Not just with weight, with a lot of things. But there is no magic happy weight. Sure, I have a weight I’m more comfortable at for a variety of reasons, but it’s not the thing that will make me happy. Or make people accept me. Or make ME accept me.

At the risk of being super cheesy, you have to love yourself FIRST. As you are. Heavy, light, big nose (that’s me!), frizzy hair, socially awkward…doesn’t matter. Love that person, because you have to believe in you. You have the most invested in your future, so you have to advocate for YOU. You have to love you.

There is no magic weight. There is no magic time in your life, no secret THING that’s going to make you go: Oh, okay, so now I’m all right. I say this having been a variety of weights and feeling basically as awkward as ever at all of them. But I was always me, no matter what the scale said. And I was always just as valuable.

And so are you.

Yes, I have the lingering neuroses, but at least now I know they’re not allowed to control me. That’s the perk of being 27 instead of 17. Perspective, I haz it.

I’m going to leave you all with this helpful graphic about how to have a bikini body, which just about sums it up (pardon the language) : 

Movie Night!

Okay, I confess, I wasn’t sure what to write about. Then I sat down and watched a movie with my husband and now I’m going to recommend said movie.

Tonight we watched Crazy, Stupid Love and I think if you haven’t seen it you need to watch it too. Because SO MANY REASONS.

Because Emma Stone is so quirky and adorable, and Ryan Gosling takes his shirt off and he does THE MOVE from Dirty Dancing. Because it made me cringe from the awkward moments, and it made me cry with the honest ones.

The characters were really good, and I have a tough time with a lot of romantic movies because…I write romance novels. And my romance novels have a really strong emphasis on the internal conflict and character development, so a lot of really cutesy rom com type movies (with some notable exceptions!) don’t do it for me because they’re all misunderstandings and external plot elements. But this had some really honest moments, and I really believed in the love stories.

Which is a testament to the movie because there was some very tough stuff, for me anyway. Things I would have maybe even thrown a book across the room for. But they worked in the movie and part of that is because it was played so well and with such integrity.

Anyway, grab a tissue. Watch it with your husband/wife/significant other and talk about the issues. Because this movie shows a marriage falling apart, and when it’s worth fighting for. It shows new love, and young love, and really ill-advised love…it’s all Crazy, Stupid Love.

And Ryan Gosling shirtless. So seriously.

There Are No Guarantees in Life

This has become a sort of motto of mine. It’s a strange one maybe, and one that I think some people might find dire, but in my situation, it’s been the key to me moving forward. And bear with me because it’s a concept that can sound kind of depressing, but I promise you it’s something that’s helped me.

Kieran mentioned in yesterday’s post about how having a child with special needs forced you to let go of that dream you had for them when you held them in your arms at birth.

That’s so very true. It’s a grief that’s hard to talk about. Hard to define. The loss of your child’s future. Of who you thought they would be.

I remember the moment I had to start letting go of the future I imagined for my son. We’d just finished his final autism evaluation. I’d been through it with my oldest and they’d said ‘developmental delay’. But I remember knowing, even as I dug in and denied it, that wasn’t what they were going to say to me after Danger Boy’s eval.

He hadn’t looked at them through the whole process. Hadn’t played with any of the toys. I remember letting them out the door and watching the therapists drive away. And then I sat on the floor with my two year old boy and held him while I cried. And cried and cried. Nobody saw that. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone (and now I’ve told everyone! hi!).

All I could think of was: He won’t be able to have the job I thought he’d have. Will he get married? Will he have children? Will he be happy? Will he ever look at me? Will he talk?

I don’t know the answer to all of those questions yet. Yes, he looks at me. He talks quite a lot now at five, but other questions? I don’t know the answers to them.

Then a couple of years ago a man I’d been friends with in high school developed a mental illness. His marriage fell apart. He lost his job.

And I remember thinking: you never would have known that’s what the future had in store for him.

Yes, that’s a little depressing, but I turned that over and I looked at my son. My son who I worry about so very much. Who I’m afraid won’t have that future I envision, that future that is, in my mind, the perfect future, and I realize nobody has a guarantee.

A more positive spin on that is that I didn’t know I’d be a romance writer. Not in the least! I didn’t imagine falling in love and marrying at nineteen. I know for a fact it’s not what my parents thought I would do. But I did, and for me, it was the perfect future. But it’s not the one they imagined. And it’s okay.

I look at my son, or at people going through the store with their typically developed children and I get angry sometimes. At the world. At that adorable child who points and says ‘mama look!’ because my son can’t. And I mourn the future again.

Then I remind myself that I have to take it a day at a time. Even if my son were a typical child, (whatever that means) I wouldn’t really know his future. And I don’t know it now. And that’s okay. I’m free to love him today, I can hold him, he’s here with me. He hasn’t ‘lost’ anything, and neither have I.

He’s meant for something great, I believe that with all of my heart. And that greatness may not lie in a future that *I* would consider perfect. But that doesn’t mean it’s not perfect for him.

Saying goodbye to the those future dreams is hard. But they’re an illusion. The child that I have now is real, and that’s where my focus needs to be.

There are no guarantees. But there is today. Today I can hold my son. Today I can kiss him. Today he might say a new word. And if I let the future fall away, I can truly enjoy those moments.

If You Take Your Kids to the Store to Buy Milk

The other day I decided to take all three kids to the store. By myself. Well, I needed some things and it seemed the most efficient way to get it done. It seemed like it. I was wrong. The whole experience somehow reminded me of the popular children’s books “If You Give a (insert animal) a (insert baked good)”

And I created my own story. To amuse myself while I dragged them all through the store at the detriment to my mental and physical health.

Ahem. Here it is:

If you take your kids to the store to buy milk…

They’s going to be little displays of tempting things kids want everywhere.

They’re going to ask you for some toys.

When you choose the toys, you’ll realize they don’t come with batteries.

When you go to buy the batteries you’ll pass the cereal.

When the kids see the cereal they’ll want to pick some!

They’ll each want a different kind.

When you get all the cereal in your cart and continue on to the batteries, your youngest will have a meltdown about something silly.

When a passerby sees your youngest having a meltdown over something silly, they’ll look at you like you’re a terrible person.

Having a stranger look at you like you’re a terrible person will remind you of the pile of laundry sitting in your room.

Thinking of the pile of laundry sitting in your room will remind you that you need to get laundry detergent.

You’ll realize you forgot the #(*)*$% batteries.

You’ll turn around and head back toward the batteries.

On the way there your middle child will throw a fit over something stupid.

Someone will look at you like you’re a horrible person.

Being looked at like you’re a horrible person will remind you that you also need to buy your kids socks so they don’t have to have bare feet under their shoes anymore because they lost them all (not that I do that…who would do that?)

So you have to back track to socks.

After back tracking to socks you close the loop and go to check out. But you grab the batteries first.

Going to check out reminds the oldest child that he has yet to panic about anything. He decides to get upset that you didn’t buy him a watch.

Seeing their older sibling get upset will remind the other two that they need to cry too.

After you make it through check out, and make it home, you’ll have the kids help you unload the car. Unloading the car will make them thirsty. They’ll ask for some milk.

And chances are, if you went to the store with your kids to buy milk…it’s the one thing you’ll come home without.

Believing That You’re Beautiful

- I originally posted this on my personal blog, but after having a weird insecurity resurgence today, I decided to post it here too.

I was asked by a friend if I wanted to go running with her, and my husband encouraging me to go, and me violently not wanting to, I was left analyzing the issues from my past that still hang on to me. She’s able to run six miles, I’m very much not. I can’t run half a mile. But the reason that kind of thing still bothers me is because I hate being seen as physically deficient or different. I was overweight when I was in high school, and even though people were nice to me, I definitely felt different.

This whole thing is a post for another time, but for now, I wanted to share this so we could all be encouraged.

“One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl. I wear colors that I really like, I wear makeup that makes me feel pretty, and it really helps. It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it.”

—	Gabourey Sidibe

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way we see ourselves. Partly because I’m in the early stages of a project with a perfectionist heroine who has struggled all of her life to meet the expectations of others in nearly every way, including the physical. And partly because well, it’s a struggle that’s close to my heart.

I spent all of my jr high and high school years feeling out of place. I was heavier than every girl I was friends with. And even though most everyone was nice to me, I couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong with me. I was afraid people judged what I ate, and how much of it I ate. Sleepovers and parties were hard because of that.

These are silly little issues I still carry a piece of with me. Because those thoughts and fears were so much a part of my formative years. The fear of judgment. The fear that people looked at me and saw only the things I perceived to be flaws.

The internet certainly doesn’t help things like this. It’s so easy to be negative from the keyboard. To pass judgment on models and actresses, to criticize their bodies from the comfort of our own homes in our sweats. (I was actually guilty of this last night on twitter re, a male actor, I don’t feel like I can point all this out without confessing that I fall into the criticism mindset)

But tweets and blog posts that are so harsh on celebrities I think confirm the insecure person’s worst fear: That people are that judgmental. That they probably do look at ME and think unkind things about my body or my big nose or whatever.

But then I come to Gabouray’s quote. And I smile. Because she’s right. It doesn’t matter what anyone else on the whole earth thinks, except for you. And when you value yourself as beautiful, or your work as worthwhile and good, then you’ll start to feel like it is.

We can’t wait for approval from outside sources. Either on our physical looks, or our other efforts.

I’m not even worried about whether or not that might make someone full of themselves, because the vast majority of women I know don’t struggle with that. They struggle with insecurities. With the feeling that they are somehow not good enough as they are. That their work isn’t good enough, their bodies aren’t good enough. And it’s a tragedy.

We all have value. We’re all here for a purpose. We’re all made beautifully. Not all the same, but beautifully. Mind and body.

We’re so often our own biggest critics, our own biggest bullies, when we could be our own biggest champion. The support of others is great, but it’s something that can be taken away. What no one can take from you is the strength inside of you. No one can change the way you feel about you, unless you let them.

I know this is all very touchy feel for me, but that’s ok.  I’m tired of the idea that we’re obligated to be self-deprecating. That we’re bad people if we’re comfortable in our own skin because that must mean we have ego issues. *eye roll* Pretty much I want to buy the world a Coke and tell every woman I hand one to that she’s flipping beautiful and the world and Photo Shop,and airbrushing can suck it.

But since I don’t have that much Coke money…Give yourself permission to be happy with what you’ve got. And decide today that you’re beautiful.

A Letter To My Daughter

You are beautiful. Not just on the outside, but on all your sides. And there will be a lot of people who say you aren’t. That’s because they feel bad about themselves. Or maybe because their mom didn’t tell them they were beautiful. I don’t know. But I know that what they say doesn’t change the truth. And that is that you’re fearfully and wonderfully made. That God took great delight in fashioning you, and that you are utter perfection, to him and to me.

You don’t have to fit into a box. You don’t have to be one thing. Be a superhero. And be a princess.

You were made to be great. You’ve been given dreams and talents so that you’ll follow them, use them. Your gifts are yours alone, and if you don’t use them, no one else in the world can, not quite like you. So make a splash with them. Share them. Spread them all over like glitter that the world will never be able to wash off (you know how glitter is.)

Friends are wonderful gifts. Some of your friends will last all of your life, and some of them for only a short time. That’s okay. It’s part of life. It’s part of growing. Losing friends is hard, especially to those Jr High and High School type situations. The ones where they say mean things and make you feel like you fail at life all because they won’t be your friend anymore. But you’ll make new friends. Better friends.

You’ll worry about boys for the rest of your life. So start as late as you can. Play with dolls. Play with stuffed animals. Play in the dirt with your brothers. Play fetch with your dog. Wear striped leggings and a polka dot dress because you want to, and don’t worry about what anyone thinks.

Speaking of boys, the boys in high school aren’t worth your time. Trust me on this. I know you’re going to waste time on them anyway, but I consider it my duty to tell you: they aren’t done baking yet. They’re going to be frogs for a few more years, no matter how many times you kiss them. My advice is to just hold off on kissing them. Make them come to you a prince already. Because heaven knows, you’re a princess.

Confidence is beautiful, don’t let insecure people tell you differently. Believe in yourself. And when you can’t, know that me, and your dad, and your brothers, and uncle and grandparents, will be behind you believing in you for you.

Stand firm in your convictions. Your friends might make fun of you, but that’s okay. If you know who you are, and what you want. Don’t let other people change you into the version of you they’re most comfortable with. Be the you that you want to be, and blaze the trail down your own path.

Tell me everything. I promise not to get mad. Well, I promise to keep my blow-up short and sweet, and then have a meaningful conversation with you. But I’d rather know what you’re doing, than be kept in the dark. I’d rather be able to support you, than let you go through something alone. Even if I don’t agree with your choices. Because no matter what, I’m on your side.

Toilet papering houses is great. Filling a boy’s car with balloons and saran wrapping it shut is better. (because no matter what I say, you’ll like those dumb high school boys. So you might as well torment them a little. I’ll probably drive the getaway car. My mom did it for me.) Learn to laugh at yourself. Spin around in open fields of grass. Look at the stars. Read books under the covers with a flashlight.

Be fierce. Be independent. Be whatever you want to be. As someone once said: Don’t be like the rest of them, darling.

And know that when I look at you, I’ll always see the baby you were. The girl you are. The woman you’ll be. And that I love you.

In Which I Blog About Romance Again

Well, I’m a romance writer and…come on, it’s Valentine’s Day.

Edit: I wanted to add this upfront, I understand that giving marriage advice is dicey. There is not a one size fits all solution to marriage. I’m not in anyone’s marriage but mine. If you feel like some of this post rings true for you, then that’s fantastic. If not, then it isn’t pointing a finger at you, or putting you down in any way. I felt like that was important to add!

So, I was perusing the webs, as one is wont to do, and I came across a poem, (I was going to link you, honestly, but I can’t find it again. ARGH) spoofing the non-children’s book Go the F*&^% to Sleep, and it’s called, Let Me Go the F&^*& to Sleep. It’s about wife who’s tired and wants her husband to stop touching her and let her to the eff to sleep.

It was funny, and I’m not going to be one of those people who can’t appreciate the funny of it just because I disagree with…most of it. Because humor is humor, and we naturally want to go BIG with humor, because that’s what makes it funny.

So, I’m not picking on the woman who wrote this. BUT…it got me thinking.

It’s really easy to make those kinds of jokes. It’s in so many sitcoms. A woman with a headache is basically as cliche and well worn as a cop with a donut. The husband always wants sex, the wife has a headache. (By the way, orgasms have been known to take headaches away so…) The rejection of the husband, the annoyance of the wife at his advances, is played for laughs, and no feelings are hurt.

This is actually something that bothers me. A lot. Because, darn it, you guys, if my husband acted like he just wasn’t that into me it would not be something I could brush off. If every time I touched him he reacted in annoyance, or like I was asking too much of him, it would affect me deeply.

Why doesn’t my husband find me attractive? Why doesn’t he want me? What did I do?

Sex in our society is such a funny thing. It’s played for laughs and to make people cringe. It offends, it shocks, it titillates. Sex as an act of love isn’t shown very often. Romance novels are the medium that show it most, I think, and they’re derided and put on the same level as porn which, I don’t know about you, but last time I checked was not about deep emotional connections.

We’ve removed sex from what it is in popular culture. An act of bonding, an act of love (and fun, heck yeah, but it’s these deep things too!).

So when we smack our husband’s hand away, we’re rejecting sex…but what if we’re rejecting a showing of love? Or his reaching out and seeking to bond? What if he feels like we’re rejecting HIM? Again, if I came onto him and he pushed me away, I would be peeved. I would feel rejected, I WOULD feel like my love was being rejected.

And ladies, this is obviously a blog whose primary audience is women, so we’re in the hot seat in this post, but this does go for men who do this to their wives as well. Marriage is a two way street, and one person can’t do all the work. I’m not trying to be accusatory at all, and clearly we all have different situations and different marriages. Some situations are much more complicated than this and there are other hurts that are preventing intimacy, and I do understand that. To those people, this clearly isn’t for you.

But I am guilty of the the occasional thoughtless rejection. A resentful eye roll when he tries to pull me to him and kiss me in the middle of the day cuz I AM BUSY AND STUFF. And I love my husband. I am guilty of feeling like ‘why are you asking this of me at the end of a long day?’ Well, why am I denying him closeness at the end of his long day? Why am I copping attitude when he’s showing me love in his way? Do I only want his demonstrations of love on my terms and when I’m ready to accept them? That’s not fair at all.

It’s easy to say that this isn’t important, or until we work out A and B, sex doesn’t need to be a priority. But I think it should be. Because it’s something you share as a husband and wife that you don’t share with anyone else. It’s one of the unique and beautiful things in your relationship and that nobody else has with you or with him.

Just like we need to feel wanted and attractive, desire and loved, our husbands need to feel that too.

That funny poem got me pondering this whole thing from a different angle. Strange how that works.

Happy Valentines Day! And I hope you feel the love.

Keeping Things Romantic

Romance is a hard thing to squeeze in around kids. And romance is my day job, so that’s saying quite a lot if I, who spends hours a day contemplating shirtless rakes and blistering love scenes, suffer from the same romance BLERGH that every parent feels.

Granted, my job helps with that. I have excuses to focus on love, and why the relationship between you and that one special person is something to be treasured.

But even romance writers get the THERE ARE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE blues. My husband and I haven’t been on a date since The Hobbit came out. Before that it was in July. I know Robyn was blogging about this the other day. I share her pain. Time alone is a luxury. And we have out special needs boy, which compounds the problem of us being able to find someone to watch our children so we can escape for a bit.

Of course, my husband and I are also both home during the day which means we DO see each other a lot, but in passing. And if he comes into the office TOO many times during an afternoon I start to get that cranky, resentful hunch at my keyboard, which lasts through out the day and is like a big neon DON’T TOUCH ME sign, I am sure.

But we all know what the obstacles are. Dirty diapers, shrieking kids, opposing schedules, etc. But what about how to combat them? I think I’m the ‘newlywed’ of the blog group, at a shy seven years (no itch, shockingly), but we’ve been through a lot of rapid life changes and challenges and we’ve always managed to come through it clinging tighter to each other.

Plus, I write romance. Trust me.

This is my Maisey List of Things That Have Helped My Marriage Stay Romantic:

1. I read romance. Really, that does help. I discovered romance novels while pregnant with our 2nd child. In addition to them being sexy, that didn’t hurt, they also reminded me of why romance is so great. They made me truly appreciative of what I had in my husband, and that was a very helpful thing.

2. We laugh. About stupid things. Last night we were awake at 1:30 in the morning, cracking up over my incredibly immature jokes.

3. We are honest. He knows what’s up with me, I know what’s up with him. He knows me, more than anyone else on earth knows me. And I know him.

4. Without TMIing…we don’t let intimacy slip. We don’t do the scheduling per se, though I think that’s a great idea, but we have rules. And we follow them.

5. We get mad at each other. This took a while. We both used to hold it in because we didn’t want to have any waves or admit that we’d FAILED and disagreed. Now we just let it out and I think we’re much healthier for it. And it’s sort of a part of…

6. We share things. Bless my husband he shares technical details of music engineering that I do not understand, and I bless my heart, I will summarize a romance novel for him. Or read him an excerpt. I know neither of us REALLY get it. But we share it. And the other one at least tries to pay attention.

7. My husband is awesome.

8. We do things together. *awkward segue*

Oh look, we did this together! We combined his music (he wrote the music, the lyrics, did the recording, the engineering and played all the instruments) and a little of mine (I showed up and sang into a mic) and my romance novels and made something that I’m really proud of. One way we stay in harmony (ha) and your husband writing you a song really does help keep things romantic.

I hope you enjoy the song! And I would so appreciate if you would share your tips on how you keep things romantic in the comments.

Edit to include book info: Unbuttoned is the first book in my Silver Creek series, and it’s a novella with Berkley’s new InterMix imprint! It’s out June 18th and here is the cover blurb:

Carly Denton has learned to keep her buttons and emotions firmly fastened. Her parents’ constant drama, and an unrequited crush on her brother’s best friend, taught her to keep her passion beneath the surface. But she can no longer avoid the one man with the ability to bring that passion to a boil…

Lucas remembers Carly as a freckle-faced tomboy—not a frosty woman who treats him like a burr under her saddle. But when they have to work together on a charity project, Lucas is shocked to find their bickering melt into some serious mutual attraction. He’s determined to show Carly that he’s the man for her, if only she’d learn to let loose.

Lucas is the last man on earth Carly should give in to. The freedom she finds in his arms has her feeling happier than ever, but is it enough to make her realize that the greatest risk isn’t losing your heart, but losing the chance at happiness?

 

Locks Changed My Life

So, back in November, my husband and I got interior locks for our house. Like, honest to goodness, locks with a key from the inside locks.

Best. Decision. Ever.

Why you ask? Well, when guests come over, there is basically nothing more hysterical than turning the lock, pocketing the key and laughing maniacally.

OKAY. That’s not why.

Many of you know our five year old son has autism and he is a MAJOR flight risk. Like, prying windows open, fleeing in the night, kind of flight risk. And he had figured out how to get out of every door (chain locks didn’t do the trick!) And over our fence, effectively bypassing the alarm system we have in place.

After watching him scale the fence on Thanksgiving, we knew something had to change. Again. That’s sort of the story of our life. Staying a step ahead, or adjusting when we’re a step behind. But with Danger baby, these issues are safety issues, and that means if everyone has to undergo a major change, then everyone undergoes a major change.

These locks? They’ve changed so much. I don’t feel like I have to shadow him constantly. I can go to the bathroom during the day. I can go out and leave the kids with my husband and not feel like I have to call every two minutes and say ‘what’s Danger doing?’.

So yes, locks changed my life.

The thing is, it seems silly. Or weird. But it works for us. I mean…it’s downright necessary for us. It works along the lesson from my last post I guess: find what works for your family and embrace it. Don’t fight it. And when you find what works? Revel in it!

A Fright to Put Things in Perspective!

We here at Peanut Butter on the Keyboard are ecstatic to welcome Rachael Johns, author at Carina Press, HQN, rising star in contemporary romance…and mom!

As a writer and mum (of three little boys) life is often a balancing act of pursuing my dream and career while making sure I still maximize the amount of quality time I spend with my children. Guilt is CONSTANTLY involved as I feel like spending time at the keyboard or surfing writing/reading blogs is taking me away from things I could be doing with my children, and Lord knows they grow so fast. One day (in the not too distant future), they’ll all have flown the nest and I’ll be all alone at the keyboard with no noise, laughter or fighting to distract me.

But right now, it’s a balancing act – one in which I constantly have to prioritize the important things in my life. Last week, I had a deadline for my latest rural romance. The book had been written for a month and I’d taken the luxury (cos I had the time) to let it sit, planning to do a final edit the week before deadline. Well, I got a big lesson that life doesn’t always go according to plan.

Right at the beginning of my proposed editing time, my son was up all night sick. The next day I had speech pathology an hour away with another son and a meeting that night. Fine, I thought, I had five days still to go and planned to do the majority of the work then. Well, Wednesday my son that was sick Monday night got a lot worse – really high temperatures, racing heartbeat and stiff neck. We took him to the doctors in the morning and he was immediately rushed to the city (in an ambulance) with suspected meningitis!

Sorry to be dramatic but my world shifted that day. My husband is a volunteer ambo officer and he drove the ambulance so I followed in the car. All that one and a half hour journey I thought about the fact that kids can die from meningitis. For the first time in eight years, I had to face the real possibility that something might happen to one of my kids and I might lose them. The thought brought an explosion of tears and I bawled my eyes out and shouted prayers to God the WHOLE way in the car. I bargained with the man upstairs, saying that if he saved my child I would do anything – I would even give up writing!

Well, he saved my child (turns out High Maintenance merely had a lung infection) so maybe I should be giving up, but I’m hoping God will give me some sort of sign if this is what he wants me to do.

My deadline went to hell in a basket because my whole week was wiped out from the hospital stay and exhaustion afterwards. Oh, I still met my deadline but the book didn’t get as thorough a going-over as I’d planned and I’m not sure it’s the best it could have been. What I realized though is that this doesn’t matter. What matters is that my child is now back at school, well and happy. I am one of the lucky ones with a healthy family and a roof over my head, so really, what right have I to worry or complain about anything else?

If I never have another book published again or if all the readers in the world hate my next release, at least I still have my child!

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STAND IN STAR – January 1st 2013, Carina Press

As an anthropologist, Holly McCartney is more comfortable in a museum than shopping on Rodeo Drive. She isn’t prepared for the media frenzy on her arrival in L.A. to accept a posthumous acting award for her late sister….or for her sister’s gorgeous friend Nate Devlin to come to her rescue. Though he resents her for some reason, she can’t fight their irresistible chemistry—especially when the paparazzi force her to stay at his mansion.

Photographer Nate only agrees to help Holly survive Hollywood for her sister’s sake, but she soon gets under his skin in a way no other woman has. The more time he spends with her, the more his attraction grows and he finds himself opening up to her in ways he never expected. But will ghosts of the past stand in the way of their perfect Hollywood ending?

To-buy links:
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Stand-In-Star-ebook/dp/B00A22UVJQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1354516932&sr=1-1&keywords=stand-in+star

Barnes and Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stand-in-star-rachael-johns/1113832187?ean=9781426894909