But, before you go, you can check out my What’s On Your Desk column in The Verb.

Women’s Fiction Writers has a great guest post by THE KITCHEN DAUGHTER author Jael McHenry.

ENJOY!

Here’s the latest from me.

I have a short story, The Kindness of Neighbors, published in Grey Sparrow.

I’ll have another short story, The Apron Strings of Amber Sweetly, published in Rose & Thorn Journal in a few weeks.

I’m reading manuscripts as an acquisitions editor for Aqueous Books.

I have new freelance editing clients.

I have added some responsibilities for my job with Backspace: A Writer’s Place.

I’m revising my novel.  Again.

I’m blogging about women’s fiction.  Just writerly stuff for writers.  I’m worn out on writing essays and personal blog posts. I’d rather live my life than write about it. At least for now.

I, I, I.

Geez, you’d think this blog is about me.

I’m Jewish, so writing about simple pleasures on Sunday hasn’t even a thimbleful of religiousness, although there’s a slight tap on one’s shoulder when small things loom large.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning I did what I always do. I slid my feet into my raggedy slippers that are overdue for a tumble in the washer and dryer. My thought was simply: OH MY GOD I LOVE THESE SLIPPERS.  It wasn’t really that dramatic, but there is nothing in this world like slippers with memory foam.  Truly. Squashed, foot-dirty, matted slippers with memory foam.  If only people remembered your shape and size and what makes you most comfy the way these ratty slipper do.  These slippers conform without reserve, not that people should conform, but there’s something to the consistency and constant comfort.  I think babies’ heads fit on their mothers shoulders the same way — but this is about slippers, not shoulders.  So, simple pleasure numero uno for Sunday is my old pair of slippers with memory foam.  I may even get myself a brand new pair, but I’m not getting rid of these until the next pair proves itself worthy of my adoration.

Simple pleasure number two is the programmable Mr. Coffee. Let’s forget I didn’t set the timer correctly last night and it made the coffee at midnight rendering it cold at 6:30 am.  There was still coffee and the microwave heated it up just fine.  I grunt and stumble toward the kitchen every morning with two dogs in between my feet. I let them both out and back in. I feed one while the other circles.  I let the fed one out because she’s greedy, and feed the other one who doesn’t eat unless you (meaning I) sit with her.  Then I let the other one in, they hound me for an after-breakkie treat and go about their business of napping. So, it’s nice to pour coffee, not try to count scoops of Folgers (I am not a coffee snob) before I have really even opened my eyes or become coherent.

Are these things in my life luxurious? No. They just make the morning a little nicer.

I’m not one for a gratefulness journal and this isn’t the intent here. I gag when people are grateful for flowers and sunshine and sunsets the way I gag when online dating profiles say someone likes walks on the beach.  Who the hell doesn’t like all those things? (Me, I don’t like sand, but I get the idea isn’t really the beach.)  We’re all glad there are sunny days and springtime.  I love flowers in my garden, in pots on my patio and in vases in my living room.  But it’s the things that are particular to our own set of circumstances and our personal psyches that need attention.  I’m grateful for good health and that I have amazing kids who actually like me most of the time and who have thus far turned out way better than average. But that’s a capital DUH in the thankful column.  I’m also thankful for the guy who plowed my driveway after the blizzard, and maybe that is a luxury, but that’s not what I mean.  Those thankfuls are givens, at least for me. You get a tight grip on being grateful when you raise two kids on your own.  No sob story, no tiny violins.  It’s the truth.  It’s cliche (and I don’t like cliches) but it’s the little things that count.  They add up to scratch the tiny itches in life that you could ignore if you had to, but it’s nice when you don’t have to.  Could I live without slippers with memory foam? I did for probably 45 years.  Frankly, I didn’t even wear slippers until about 2 years ago.  Not sure why.  I was a barefoot, shoes-in-the-house kind of gal, and now I am always wearing slippers.  New trick? Not really.  Let’s call it a late life Dearfoam revelation.  I could also aptly make coffee in the morning.  And sometimes I do.  But I always prefer to not.  And having a few ways to allow myself to enjoy the morning (which I already love) a little more, is a good thing.  Realizing it is an even better thing. Although I’m not sure that’s always so simple.

Pamela Toler: scholar, journalist, author -- me (you know me)-- Karen Dionne: internationally published thriller author, Backspace co-founder (which makes her my boss)

Nothing like writers getting together for brunch.

We talked about website design, marketing and the craft of weaving subplots and secondary characters into an existing storyline.  We sidelined into a few minutes about jewelry (OOPS) and then circled back to talk about the Backspace forums, the Backspace conference, our agents, writer-friends, research, thrillers, women’s fiction and I think we veered off and talked about the merits of croissants while eyeing the waiter in the hopes of more coffee and flagging down a hostess to take this picture.

This is the first time I’ve met Karen, although I’ve been a Backspace member since 2007.  Pamela and I met about three years ago via Backspace, but in Chicago, and have been friends ever since. Karen and Pamela met at a Backspace conference.  Pamela and I get together once-a-month.  Karen and I email and talk about Backspace business.  Pamela and Karen have shared conference memories.

Talk about the inter-web we weave!

I’ve blogged before about meeting online friends. The internet has introduced me to folks with whom I’d have never crossed paths.  Most of those experiences were great.  Many of those people have become integral parts of my real life. The internet has also afforded me job opportunities, educational opportunities and lots of laughs.

But the best part of meeting people online is when they are no longer just online.

Hanging out and having dinner with Janna reminded me of the wonder of the web. There I was, waiting for her in the lobby where I told the hostess I was waiting for my friend.  It was the truth. As soon as Janna and I sat down at our table in the tundra (we were by the door, not a great idea) we could have as easily as said, “Now, where were we?” or “What was I saying?” and started talking as if in the middle of conversation. Of course we studied the menu first. Writers need their sustenance — and friendships have their priorities.

This fall when I was teeter-tottering between novel #2 and novel #3, I signed up for a Margie Lawson class meant solely for writers on defeating self-defeating behaviors.  But of course, it started in January when I’d already beaten the devil on my own (my devil is the television. I now do not turn it on during the day)

There is no inspiration like editor rejections with some chewable feedback.  My agent, Jason Yarn, and I had one of those agenty-authory chats about the feedback, chewed on it together, spit some of it out. (We didn’t ignore the compliments, but those don’t help you make it better!) We talked about not only what needed tweaking but how to do it, where it might work within the three-hundred pages and what was next. Lucky for me this isn’t a page-one rewrite, it’s a preening, digging, setting some new things in motion.  I worked on Chapter 1 and sent it back to Jason for his thoughts which were, in a nutshell, keep-on-going- so-we-can-get-this-puppy-back-out-to-a-new-batch-of-much-more-intelligent editors (Ok, that last part is me talking, not Jason). Jason said let’s not give them ANY reason to say no.

So, on-going I keep.

During this editing process, which will continue for another three weeks, and then again when Jason sends back my revisions for a final polish, it’s all I’m working on aside from you know, silly projects I actually get paid to work on. I intermingle it all throughout every day by setting my iPhone timer. That way I can keep my eyes off the clock.

Hence, there’s little time for baseboard dusting or furniture fluffing. Can you sense my disappointment?

I start the day with “real” work from about 6 am til 10 am.  There’s coffeeing and lunch-making and showering and carpooling in there too, but lots gets done. Then, I read the chapter du jour and highlight areas for change. I go back over the chapter and make changes. Then I usually eat lunch and read email, Facebook and any number of blogs and websites I love. I also watch TV.  Then I go back to the manuscript and reread what I changed.  It’s usually, well, not so good, which frankly baffles me because when I wrote it was genius, you know?  It’s amazing what a spicy chicken sandwich and some baked chips can do for your internal editor. I revise the revisions.  Then I probably have to tend to the dogs or read a submission or edit for a client or write an article or essay or blog post.  Or all of the above.  Later, after some afternoon snacking and time with my teenager, I go back to the chapter.  There’s always some tweaking and sometimes I have to trail backwards to make sure what I changed in Chapter 4 is consistent with Chapters 3, 2 and 1.  Then I close the doc and know that in the morning I’ll go to the next chapter. And when it’s all done I’ll re-read and fine tune the entire manuscript before emailing it to Jason.

Personally, I can’t think of a better reasons than twenty more chapters to leave the mopping ’til another day, can you?

~~~~~

If you’ve never heard of Margie Lawson, click here. If you’ve never heard of Jason Yarn, click here and here and here.  And if you’re really concerned that my house not get swallowed by dog fur tumbleweeds, rest easy. My dogs aren’t shedding. It’s winter!