Misconceptions at the Laundromat

Something happened to me at the laundromat today and I just had to share it with the world. Or, myself mostly.

Before I begin, you'll need to know how I feel about laundromats. They're pretty much near the top of my "Least Favorite Places" list (trailing behind The Dentist and The DMV). Nothing good ever comes from a laundromat. Sure, you get clean clothes, but they're hot and they're crowded and the machines are always over-priced and they never clean as well as at-home machines do, and worst of all, they're always filled with weirdos. I'm not trying to sound anti-weirdo here, but everyone gets a little weirded out by the homeless bag lady who's standing in the corner talking to herself, or the overly-friendly guy who starts up a 20 minute, never-ending conversation with you while you're sitting there with a book and a laptop and headphones on and a giant sign over your head that says "LEAVE ME ALONE" but he still has to ask you 75 questions anyway. So yeah - not my favorite place in the world. Now back to my story.

So I'm walking into the laundromat, the back of my car filled with trash bags full of dirty clothes, ready for my weekly "how-can-two-hours-feel-this-long?" extravaganza of clothes washing. As I walk down the ramp and into the laundromat to grab one of those wheely-cart-things to pile all my crap into, I see a man sitting just inside the doorway. We do the awkward eye-contact thing, and he's sort of frowning at me but maybe not looking at me, and I'm kind of frowning too because I'm at the laundromat and the sun was just in my eyes and it's a million degrees outside.  I think nothing of it and grab a wheely-cart-thingy and head back to my car.

As I'm walking up the ramp, I see-hear-feel him walking behind me. Briskly behind me. So I get that little prickly uh-oh-he-might-be-a-weirdo feeling at the back of my neck, but I try to ignore it and just get to my car where I can sort of hide behind it.

He's yelling something behind me, and I realize that he's saying "You don't come in! You stay! You've been warned!" and at this point I'm rolling into OH SHIT PANIC MODE and trying to push my wheely-cart-thingy faster up the hill but it's all bumpy and oh god make this guy go away already...

Finally I get to my car and hide next to it, and he goes to the car next to mine and keeps yelling "you've been warned. Oh now you're hiding. You stay here!" and I'm doing anything in the world but looking at him and just frozen there half bent over my car and not knowing what in the world to do.  And he's whooping and sort of barking now and I think this guy must be COMPLETELY insane. I'm thinking that this might be the end of my life and what the hell should I do in this situation? Do I yell for help? Do I curl up into a little ball? Do I tell him to go away? I decide to just ignore him, and I take a big brave deep breath, where I'm planning to head to my trunk to get my clothes and go back inside as quickly as humanly possible.

That's when I look over at him, just for a second and see him looking into the back of the car he's standing near.

And inside is a tiny puppy. That apparently has been barking. And that he's been addressing the entire time.

And he didn't even see me.

And I feel this hilarious sense of relief and did-that-just-really-happen-to-me and wow-don't-I-feel-stupid all at once.

So I head into the building, smiling at my own unrelenting necessity to panic over nothing, and think that maybe the next two hours won't be as bad a usual. At least I'll have something to think about.

Why Is Something I Love So Hard?

I love to write, so why is it that I can't seem to bring myself to do it? Why do I sit here in front of this big, vast, white space and feel unable to fill it with something? Anything. Even now, something as nonthreatening as a little blog post, that doesn't really mean anything to anyone except maybe myself, I can't seem to get past the whiteness of it. I feel like my feet are caught in the mud and I'm tugging and pulling but I can't seem to get them out, and for some reason my shoes have become vacuum-sealed to my feet because taking them off isn't an option either. Or maybe it's more like I have to poop but nothing is coming out.

Yep. I've even used that metaphor before (believe it or not).

I feel like Matt De La Pena (an author who spoke at the SCBWI conference) did when he was describing this scene from his past during his keynote, which ended up in one of his books. As a teenager, he was at the beach with his uncle when his uncle decided that they were going to swim to the buoy and back. All macho like. To impress a couple of girls. They swam and swam and realized they getting tired only halfway there and thought that they weren't going to make it, and so they began to panic. So there they were, out in the middle of the water, halfway between the shore and buoy, panicking and thinking that they were both going to drown. Finally, after struggling and thinking "well, this is it" the lifeguard yelled at them from across the beach "STOP. STAND UP." Lo and behold they were only about 5 feet deep the whole time. Oops.

I think Matt's story (told much more hilariously and eloquently at the conference) pretty much sums up how I feel about my writing. Like I'm struggling and flailing for no reason and if I would just relax and let go, I'd realize that I was standing all along, that I could do this the whole time.

For now though, I'll probably keep drowning in my own little 5 feet of water, until eventually, one way or another, my feet touch the bottom.

Word Weekend!

It's SCBWI weekend and that means 3 prefect, beautiful days filled with nothing but words and writing and inspiration and amazingness and a room full of people who share one common, undeniable love.

It's really overwhelming to think about, to be a part of, to be surrounded by 1000+ people who all (hopefully) eat, sleep, breathe, and worship the written word the way that I do.

There are so many outstanding keynote speakers this year who continue to remind me over and over again - Yes - this is who you are. Don't forget it. Just because this year has been rough and your writing has gotten a little off track, just because you haven't been doing anything really great, doesn't mean that you don't still love this.

I still love this, and it's nice to have that vigor back, that "I can do this I can do this I can do this!" feeling that I get after leaving the conference.

I just hope the feeling lingers, I hope when I get home back to my normal life again, away from this word overload extravaganza, that I'll remember how these speakers inspire me, that I'll remember that I may just be the next big thing, and that dreams can never be too big, and that I've just got to sit down and do this...

Mommy, What's a Library?

A phrase I hope my children never utter. (Well, unless we're counting so-young-they've-never-heard-the-word-before, which I'm not.)

We went to the library today to check out some books. It was the city's main branch, so it's pretty impressive in size. No Library of Congress or anything, mind you, but still the biggest one I've been into on this coast. 3 stories of books books books. Is there anything better? And I've got to tell you, every time I check out books at the library, the same feeling comes over me, the same one I think I've always had, since I was a kid.

"Is this real? Can I really do this? Can I really take away all these wonderful books to read, as many as I want? For free?" I still feel a little like Matilda.

The cynic in me is always looking for a catch (damn you late fees!) but the word-lover in me has never let go of that sense of wonder, that sense of "which one do I read first?!" or "I hope I can get through all these before they're due!"

But what about my children? Or worse, my grandchildren. Will there still be libraries around when they're eager to read? Or will they have all disappeared into that horrible place of yesteryear that "when I was a kid things were so much better..." Only, in this case, it's hard not to agree.

A world without libraries is a world without free knowledge, and that's something I shudder at the thought of. People are dumb enough as it is. Let's not cut off a major resource of the written word.

For now, while they're still around, I'll cherish my library books, clutch them close to me and soak up that wonderful "I've been read and loved by so many" smell that new books just don't have. I'll soak up those wonderful worn edges and sagging spines that tell you you're sharing an experience with someone else, the mysterious someone who had the book before you. I'll soak up these books and hope, and pray, that they're still around for my kids, that they're still around for generations to come.

Look at Me! I'm blogging!

Hello world!

After years of putting it off: of "I'll get to it eventually," of "I know, I know I really DO need to start my blog," I'm finally here, in this lovely invisible space, ready to share my words.

With.... someone.  I'm not sure who that someone is quiet yet... But I'll figure it out as I go along. Is it the whole world? (Hey, might as well dream big.) Or maybe just a few of you out there? Or maybe just little old me? Either way, it's nice to have a place to put things.

My brain works in categorizations, in drawers, in compartments, in putting things where they go - emotionally speaking - so it's only natural that I'd crave a place to put my words.  Right now they seem to be running amuck inside my head, all scrambled together, and are having a little trouble forming coherent thoughts. I know they're in there somewhere, and this is my way, I suppose, of trying to coerce them out.

Even if they're not the most perfect words to ever grace the Internet, they're still mine, and that makes them a part of me, so they can't be all bad, right?

So here's a place for me, that's entirely my own, a blank slate for whatever words decide they're ready to escape my brain and onto the page, and I welcome you here.