Read about the pageant!

vck

P.S. A special thanks to my dear friend Keith R. A. DeCandido for holding my hand backstage during the contest. He helped keep me on my feet and out of trouble. Big hugs and kisses to Keith.

Anyway, there is a part of me that is really excited about him growing up because once he is an adult I don’t have to be one anymore. I won’t be legally responsible for anyone but myself. It won’t be considered child abandonment if I just take off and stay gone for weeks at a time. I doubt I’ll have any more money but I won’t feel as guilty about spending my money on me, me, me, instead of the kids.

I’m not too worried about the empty nest syndrome. My daughter lives less than a mile away and comes home nearly every day for something. Usually money. He is planning to go to college at (not OSU his dear ole mum’s Alma Marta) but that other Oklahoma university right down the street from my house. So he’ll be living at home at least his freshman year. They got rules.

Still, I’ve been a mother -stop laughing Bill- most of my life. So it will be an adjustment. Of course I will still be their mother but there is a difference in being the mother of minors and adults.

I’m accustomed to telling them what to do. Not that I actually expect them to do what I tell them. I will probably always put in my two cents worth. But how do I transition from the ‘because I’m your mother and I said so’, parent to the ‘may I offer my opinion’, parent?

The Klingon in me says, “Just beat your opinion into them!”

But the Klingon in me isn’t always reasonable. (Of course I would never tell her that) ]]> Administrator http://vickeymalonekennedy.com/blog/2008/04/05/happy-dance/ 2008-04-05T06:01:38Z 2008-04-05T06:01:38Z Uncategorized

Sounds a bit counterproductive because we need light to write. Well some of us do. I type with my eyes closed most of the time. Could explain my lousy spelling? No. I just can’t spell worth shit.

Like most artists, writers’ tend to be their own worst critics. We are never convinced our work is any good, or at least not good enough. Sometimes it isn’t. We’ve all written crap during our exploration of the craft. But still, occasionally, we create something we aren’t completely ashamed to have read aloud in public.

Like most artists, writers’ need validation. That validation can come in many forms. The day your family stops nagging you about wasting so much time on the computer with your little hobby, and starts nagging you to get back to work on your writing, is a moment of triumphant validation. Winning contests, selling something you’ve written, wowing your critique group with an awesome short story, are all moments of validation.

Still we doubt ourselves, our ability, our talent, our value.

Writing is not a nine to five job. We don’t punch a clock, or pick up a weekly paycheck. We get paid sporadically and usually in small amounts. I once received a check for $3 for a short story. Hey it was three dollars I didn’t have before the mail ran that day. And it was validation that my work had not gone unnoticed, unappreciated, or unpaid.

But every now and again I get a surprise validation. A check for a contest I had forgotten I had entered. An honorable mention from an extremely prestigious contest. A sale of a story I didn’t particularly care for myself but someone convinced me to submit it anyway. An “Oh my God!” from my daughter when she has just finished proofreading a new story.

Sometimes that jaw dropping, eye widening, expression of complete awe on the face of a reader is the most rewarding validation of all. It always surprises me when someone has that reaction to something I’ve written. It always makes me step back, look at myself in the mirror, and say to myself, “maybe I can write.” Of course an hour later I’m deleting an entire book I think sucks the big one.

But once in a great while, when someone gets that look of awe on their face, when my family nags me to get back to work, when I open an envelope in the mail and there is a check inside, when I get an email telling me I’ve just won another contest, I feel validated. I feel like it’s all worth it. I feel good about myself. I feel like I’m a real writer.

I feel that way today because I just won another first place at Whim’s Place for a flash fiction piece entitled, “In a Flash.” Unfortunately, Whim’s isn’t going to publish it on their web site this time. Their newsletter implied they may be going under. Which sucks!

Whim’s Place was a great paying market providing excellent exposure for their authors. I hate to see them fold. I encourage everyone to pay them a visit at www.whimsplace.com and encourage them to continue supporting and validating writers like me.

The problem is that the six hours on the desk are kicking my rump. My back aches. My neck aches. My incision area aches. I get tired too quickly and I never seem to get enough rest.

I’m freaking falling apart. Too tired to do anything I don’t absolutely have to do. Too tired to do a lot of things I absolutely need to do. Too tired to write.

Other than that I’m feeling just fine physically. I’m actually feeling better emotionally as well. I made a decision a few weeks ago that I was not wasting any more tears on anyone that doesn’t love me. And I haven’t cried over anyone since. I’ve actually started talking to my ex again. Don’t know where it’s going from here. At the moment I have no expectations. One day at a time. That’s all any of us can really handle.

We just have to take whatever the world tosses at us one thing and one day at a time. Try not to dwell on the past. Try not to worry about the future. Just try to survive the here and now. If we manage that then we’re doing all right.

For the next four days I was terrified. My doctor seemed very certain it was cancer. Thankfully it wasn’t. I did have to have a total abdominal hysterectomy and a bladder suspension. I had needed the bladder fixed for years. Actually I had needed the hysterectomy for years. But you know nurses make the worst patients.

I had a couple of near death experiences. They had me on a continuous Morphine drip and I stopped breathing every time I fell asleep. Scared my mom to death. I tried to explain to the nurse that I thought I was being overdosed and I needed Narcan, but she thought I was just one of those nurses trying to dose herself.

Thank goodness my doctor didn’t agree with her. But before they had a chance to stop the PCA I accidently pulled the IV out trying to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. It probably saved my life.

I have to admit that the morphine did a great job of relieving the pain, but I had some bizarre hallucinations. One was about these three rats ducked taped to a black felt hat. They kept flipping the hat over. Really weird. Really comical according to my family. They are still making fun of my rats on hats.

My mom lives at Lake Texoma. She insisted I go home with her when I got out of the hospital. Probably the smartest thing I could have done. No one at home to take care of me. My mom waited on me hand and foot during my recovery. It was nice.

I love it at the lake. Except my parent’s boat is broken so we did not go fishing, not even once.

My dad has all these friends down there with boats, and they go fishing all the time, but not one of them invited us along during my visit. Not to mention that someone stole all my dad’s fishing poles and tackle boxes. What a bitch.

One of my parent’s friends brought us fresh catfish a couple of times. It was fantastic. Home fried, fresh catfish, right out of the lake is better than the finest cuisine from any five star restaurant in the world.

My sister, Chris, won two hundred bucks from the lottery while I was there. So my folks and I played the lottery unsuccessfully the next week. My niece, Brooke, babysat me while my parents went out gambling on Thursday nights. Gambling was a repetitive theme.

It didn’t rain while I was there. Which was a good thing because the lake is high. Not as high as it was a few months ago but still high.

It was a remarkably uneventful couple of weeks. That’s exactly the reason I enjoy the lake. I like the peace and quite. I like sitting on the porch for hours at a time doing absolutely nothing. I love the way time seems to slow down and almost stand still long enough to catch my breath. It truly is like living in another time period.

Of course it was really tough to be away from my baby boy and the internet for two weeks. I had some serious withdrawal symptoms. Started dreaming in HTML. Then I got home and my wireless wasn’t working. It’s going to take a month to catch up with all my e-mail, but I promise to get back to everyone as soon as possible.

Physically I’m getting better every day. Still tired. A trip to the grocery store nearly kicks my ass. My blood pressure has been completely out of control for about a month. It’s probably just stress. But otherwise I’m recovering physically.

It’s the first time Brother’s been out of the house in days. As if a broken arm wasn’t enough of a burden, he’s had an upper respiratory infection all week. He’s been miserable.

It’s been twice as miserable for him because I’ve been so depressed. Poor baby couldn’t get his poor ole moody mother to pet him while he’s feeling bad. But thanks to some really wonderful folks petting me the last few weeks things are beginning to look better.

I’ve got some fantastic friends. They’ve got sturdy, soaking wet, shoulders that I’ve really had to lean upon a lot to help get me over the hump. It’s reassuring to know there are so many people out there that have got my back. Especially this time of the year.

Of course a really good back rub would make me feel so much better. A heart rub is probably out of the question. But there is a gallon of Butter Pecan ice cream in the freezer, and a whole Pecan pie in the fridge. That ought to do the trick

But there are a few relationship rules that should be, but simply aren’t, obvious to some folks. These rules must be reiterated, or learned the hard way.

When approached by these men; slap them in the face and tell them they should be ashamed of themselves. Even if you really, really like them. Even if they are really, really hot.