Congratulations, novelist! You won!

"And now, 50,000 words and one month later, you are a NaNoWriMo Winner!"

I'm grateful for the pants on the dining room table.

If it weren't for those pants, I'd have never started writing my 50,000 words on November 1, 2011.

And now on November 30, it's late. I'm sitting in my living room with a fire in the wood stove, the water out there in the dark, quiet tonight and right here with me is my first reader of these words. (There was no reading allowed until 50,000 was reached. Or more like "I won't read it until you reach 50,000.)

Every time he laughs I have to know what part he's reading. His eyes water with laughter. Is there any better form of encouragement? I'm so grateful.

Even though November 2011 is over and I reached my goal:

50,000 words, BABY! I'll keep at this story until it tells me it's finished.

When it's done, I'll need some readers for pre-editing feedback.

The story is called Hiding Madore.

Think about whether you'd be willing to read it for me and then (gulp) give me honest feedback so I can go back in for the 're-write.' Meditate on it. Light a candle or whatever.

I'll be in touch.

Flying in the Face

I'm coming right up on the end of November:

• National Novel Writing Month
• the month of a gratitude post each day
• the National month of the pomegranate
• and the month also known as Movember

I'm exhilarated and sad at the same time.

I'm jacked because I wrote my 50,000 words, people. I did it. From the 1st, starting at 12:01 a.m. (actually sitting up in bed with my netbook upon my lap) to this morning (11/29) around 11:00 a.m. I wrote 50,104 words. My novel. My first NaNoWriMo attempt. I'm so pleased.

Now, this is not to say that I was able to type the words 'The End' this morning. Because when I look at it realistically, I'm probably only about 1/3 of the way through telling the story of the seven women in my book. But I've accomplished the first hurdle, which was 50,000 words in thirty days. A couple of words over my goal and a day early. On October 31st, NaNoWriMo Eve, I did not think I could do it. I'm grateful to be so wrong sometimes.

I've posted a statement of gratitude for every day this month. Some days this was easier than others. It got better as the month progressed. And now I find myself with just tomorrow left but not really wanting to stop. I've enjoyed these daily thanks. And I'm grateful for the energy of gratitude.

I am, as ever, grateful for men with facial hair. Happy Movember. Nice job, men.

I wish you'd hang onto it a bit longer than just Movember. "All I want for Christmas is...."

Now speaking of men, facial hair or not, I have to let the other side of my thoughts have their fair share. I wrote a few words about some of the men to whom I could not explain my attraction. (Just some...) Now I'm going to take a moment to express my inability to explain the opposite.

Here is a list of men for whom I DO NOT get the attraction. These men, I believe have been generally thought of as attractive, pop culture-wise. But I simply don't get it. And this may seem rather harsh but there are a couple of men on this list that I have a hard time even looking at long enough to try and figure out what people see in them. Explain it to me if you want to.

Patrick Swayze

Brendon Fraser

Jamie Foxx

Robert Pattinson

Joaquin Phoenix

Tiger Woods (even before)

James McAvoy

Justin Timberlake

And the "Okay, I get it but I disagree" list"

Hugh Jackman

George Clooney

Benjamin Bratt

Who do you 'not get?'

Simply, No Accounting

If someone were to tell me, "I am so attracted to you but I'm not exactly sure why," I think I might be a little offended.

And yet...

Is there anyone in the world to whom you are deeply, but unexplainedly attracted? They simply do not fit your standard criteria for attractive?

I mean, if you were to announce that you find Brad Pitt quite handsome, no one would bat an eye, right? No surprise.

But if you were to mention aloud, 'Holy shit, that Bob Costas really does it for me,' you might get some quizzical looks.

My Partial List:
Bob Costas (The aforementioned)
David Caruso (What the hell, right?)
Joe Buck
Kevin Calabro
Will Patton


When I look at this incomplete list, the most striking common denominator that I notice is intelligence. It is my impression (and PLEASE God, do not enlighten me if I'm mistaken) that they are each quite intelligent and articulate (or they play one on TV).

And as far as I know, and again please do not go enlightening me, they are not complete and utter ass-holes. Sometimes that is all one can hope for.

I'm grateful for contradictions and exceptions.


It is too a word!
Webster's says: "Rarely used adverbial inflection of the adjective unexplained

Talk Dewey To Me!

If the title to this blog post is not already printed on a t-shirt or bumper sticker somewhere, then I want the rights to it.

There are some very common vacation destination desires that I lack. There are places on the planet that I think would be wonderful to visit but at the same time, some other, more commonly held (popular) locations, fail me.

New York City is one.

Now, up until today, only under the right circumstances would I have been happy to take a trip to New York City.


The Conditions being:


On someone else's dime with no financial restrictions.


With someone who really knew their way around NYC (but whose company I would have to ADORE).


When it wasn't freezing cold nor muggy and hot.


With front row ticket to Michael Buble at MSG during my lengthy, non-rushed stay.

But today as I was working around Word Count 43,130 of my novel, I needed the name of a high end, well known NY hotel. (My head says "I know there's one that starts with a 'P.' What was that one again?)

Fortunately I couldn't remember The Plaza and consequently, during the Google search I stumbled upon this place, which doesn't fit my needs for the purpose of my novel story line but absolutely does fits my needs in other more important ways. http://www.libraryhotel.com/index.cfm

Go there now. This place looks too cool. I'm going.

One of the tabs on their site is titled: The Dewey Decimal Concept. Be still, my old school heart.

They have a room called The Erotic Literature Room.

I wear a garnet and diamond band on my left third finger, symbolizing my commitment never to get married again.

But if I die and come back as some rookie who has no such commitment, this is the location at which I will have the ceremony, the reception, the extended honeymoon and all subsequent meals for the rest of my days.

Haven't you always wanted to LIVE in a beautiful hotel? The entire top floor. All mine.
That Eloise had it made, in my nine year old opinion.

I'm eternally grateful for room service.


Go take a look at the website. This place is for me.


Isn't life great?

Stay A While

"Take off your shoes, BB!" Connor insists.


He has learned through trial and error, over the first two and half years of his life, that you aren't allowed to leave his house unless you have your shoes on.

I wonder how many times he's heard, "Connor, get your shoes. We can't leave until you have your shoes on."

He has thus surmissed that if someone comes to his house and takes off their shoes, they can't leave.

"Take off your shoes, BB!"
Connor buying a bit of insurance that I will be there for awhile.

I am grateful for the magic that is this boy. Connor.

Barbie's Messy Mimosa

I'm no gourmet cook.
I am a good cook but it is by no means my calling in life. And I don't LOVE it.

I do not make my own recipes.

I do not cook for fun. I cook for food.
For good food, however.
I do make a few things really well (truffles, quiche and omelets among them) and everything else, just regular.

Today I created a new drink; I'm calling it a Messy Mimosa.

I love champagne. I had half an orange and a pomegranate (in honor of Notional Pomegranate month).

I put four slices of orange and a slew of pomegranate seeds in the bottom of a glass. This particular pomegranate was particularly juice so all of those red drops went into the glass as well.
Then I poured in the champagne. With the sparkly foam. So pretty and pink. With delicate little bubbles clinging to each pomegranate seed. And if you watch it the gem like red seeds will sink to the bottom, then float back up to the top. Again and again. In time-lapsed pomegranate TV. Tastes a bit like an intoxicated fruit salad.

If you see a few typos and broken grammar rules just know that I'm on my fourth Messy Mimosa.

I think it would taste good with a splash of orange juice in it as well. But then there's less room for the champagne.

My first drink creation. I'm grateful for libation free license.

Happy Happy 'Thank you' Day!

Only 7 Writing Days Left!!

Back in the day, Little English 101 on the Prairie, your first writing attempt was called a Rough Draft. The permission to be less than perfect, in that first go, was implied.

"Dear Mr. Peterson,

Barbie has my permission to begin this story very badly indeed.
(She'll try to make up for it in the end.)

Yours truly, St. Francis De Sales (your friendly Patron Saint of Writers)"

When my children went through their public education, I guess the educators thought Rough Draft was too complicated to understand so they called their first attempt, "Sloppy copy."
The dumbing down begins....

Okay, fine. Whatever! *cringe*

Have you ever had something in your life for which you are so grateful, that you couldn't really remember life without it?

Well, I kind of have this with Anne Lamott's book Bird By Bird. Anne has written quite a bit. Some of it I like fine; some I couldn't manage to muddle my way through. Her fiction stuff was NOT my favorite. I recommend her non-fiction without reservation (unless you are a George Bush fan, in which case I have reservations about said recommendation).

Bird By Bird makes up for it all. And oddly enough, I cannot remember how I came upon this book. One of my many previous book clubs had Blue Shoe as it's inaugural selection, that may have been my first exposure to Ms. Lamott but I'm not sure exactly.

Some of the chapter headings of Bird By Bird are:

• Radio Station KFKD




• Jealousy




• School Lunches




• Short Assignments




• Index Cards




• Shitty First Drafts

It's the last listed here that I struggle to remember for personal application as I write.

I cannot count the number of stories I've started (fuckin' GENIUS stories, mind you) that I never finished because that first draft went so badly. So very badly.

And yet someday you and I might be having a perfectly friendly and frank conversation and I'll say 'Oh yeah, I know just what you mean. I wrote a story about that very thing once.' But what I really mean is "I started to write a story about that very thing once!" Somehow it's just not the same, is it?

This month I'm attempting to write a 50,000 word novel from November 1st through the 30th.
I knew from the first word that my pre-existing condition Perfection-itis was in for the big hurt.

Just prior to November 1st I was on the NaNoWriMo web site and saw words like:

• "Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft" But the pain is why I do this, right?




• "It's all about quantity, not quality" WHAT?




• "Lower your expectations, take risks and write on the fly" I think I'm going to be sick.




• "You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing." Define 'good.'




• "Permission to make mistakes"




• "Forgo the endless tweaking and editing, just create."




• "Build without tearing down." Excuse me?




• "Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together!"

Oh my GOD, we're all gonna die. Or at least, I am.

Dear Barbie,

You have permission to write a really horrible, terrible, shitty 50,000 word first draft with 50,000 holes in the plot.

Yours mostly, ~ B

(Mr. Peterson was never as harsh a critic, as I am on myself. Bless his heart.)

Call my writing what you will.

I am grateful that I have unconditional permission to write a full-fledged AWFUL rough, sloppy, shitty first draft.

Whether I have the courage to use said note, is another matter entirely.