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Day of the Cold

Christmas has come and gone, and so have both my decorations and my health. Now before you all start attacking me for my un-Christmassy spirit, let me lay it all out for you: new baby, new house after 10 months of bumming off family, hard-core Holiday season. (We were “smart” and moved the WEEK of Thanksgiving. Brilliance, I know.) Add on to all of that a cleanliness complex and the intense desire to see my living room without looking through a billion nutcrackers I had no other place for, and you might begin to get an understanding of why everything came down FAST. I mean, I literally finished college, came home, became a stay-at-home mom because that sounded fun, and spent the next week trying to cook a myriad of cookies with the four-year old for Christmas presents, because “that’s cheaper.” Lies. Alllll lies. Next year, people will get a craft from the boys and be happy with it. So there!

All that said, the stress and insanity have led to that age-old bane of winter: the Drippy Nose Cold. I’m not quite sure how to survive. My bathroom trash cans are over-flowing with wadded up tissues, my nose runs like Niagara Falls every time I slightly test gravity, and I think I pulled a muscle in my neck from sniffing. How’s that for a trip to the doctor’s? “Doc, I need some of the good stuff. I’ve pull a muscle in my neck and can’t see straight.” “Alright, how’d you do it? Car accident? Slept wrong? Wrestled polar bears?” “Ah…no… I sniffed too much.” I can just hear my mother telling me to go blow my nose. Doesn’t she understand, though, that you can only blow your nose so many times before a.) you are living in the bathroom blowing your nose every 5 seconds or b.) your nose turns into a massive bloody appendage worthy of a Kleenex commercial.

Alas, life must go on. My head may feel like a gigantic melon, my cheeks might feel full of rocks. My nose may be an endlessly dripping facet of nasty, and I might use up all the tissues and toilet paper in the house, but life must go on. So, I valiantly head forward, back into the melee, armed with a roll of Charmin and my trusty Lysol. If I fail to re-emerge, send in the foot patrol. I might need some Dayquil or something. Maybe, JUUUUUST maybe, if I survive, I’ll share a little of the chapters I’ve edited. Maybe. IF I survive.

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S. G. RickettsToday is the third day of school and my brain is finally feeling rejuvenated! Call it boredom, call it focus, call it nerd-dom, but I always feel better when I’m in a classroom. There is something amazing, something nearly magical, about a classroom. Ideas are exchanged, facts are taught, knowledge is imbued. Ah… I love it! I’m strange,  I know, but I always have a secret countdown going in my mind for any new semester.

With the return of school also comes guilt-free access to libraries. Guilt-free access to libraries brings quiet, peaceful, clutter-free spaces. Quiet, peaceful, clutter-free spaces promotes writing! (And I feel that I should credit my 8th grade logic teacher for that lovely flow, regardless of the missing “therefore.)

I’m excited! Are you excited? Not only will Puck be progressing past the chapters I’ve already written, but Calypso shall slowly become more polished as well. Unfortunately, I missed my goal for 2012 of having Calypso out to agents by December, but 2013 is a new year! Today is a new day! Optimism! Yay! (Not sure where this energy is coming from… The espressos have abandoned me for months, so this must just be EXCITEMENT!)

If you’re not acquainted with Puck yet, shame on you. Based off a story I wrote for a BookRix contest months ago, it follows the rather ordinary life of Rebekkah As-Yet-Not-Last-Named, her spunky best friend Joe (and his collection of v-neck shirts and paranormal paraphernalia), her shape-shifting cat guardian, and a rather attractive man determined to ruin love across the globe. Interested? Check it out at my sister blog site, sgrickettsonline.wordpress.com. Chapter 3 will be up on Friday. If you love it, share it with your friends. If you hate it, please keep hateful posts to a mildly-spitting minimum. (Free speech and all, but seriously… Your bad ju-ju will rub off, and that will make me cry.)

I decided to do the  crazy and start a web serial of my own to allow y’all a little more reading material (albeit INCREDIBLY slowly) while you wait for Calypso to head to agents and publishers all around. (Hopeful thinking creates realities, right?) Think of it as a benevolent advertisement. We all benefit: you have a story to read and the time to agonize over what Rebekkah will do next or what delectable creation will come out of Joe’s mind next (Recipes for both the white chocolate mocha and the creation in the posted chapters will be going up.) and I gain a larger readership to join those of you fabulous enough to already be following me. A win-win, I’d say. But, I need your help in order to accomplish it. I can post blogs all day long and no one might read them. You, as the reader, are invaluable. If you like a post or you like Puck or Calypso, share it on Facebook. Tweet it. Do any of the other number of sharing options you can. DON”T steal it and say it’s your own. I will hunt you down and cut off your fingertips.

Consider this: the larger the crowd the blogs draw, the better I look to potential agents and publishers. It’s much easier to promote a book that people already want than one no one’s heard of. And who doesn’t love a great alien love story/survival tale?

 

Anyway, enough of my blabbering. Welcome to 2013! Check out Puck. Keep your fingers crossed that my A.D.D. allows me to edit Calypso. Read a book as often as possible. And… Drink more coffee!

"Sleeping Ocean" by princessofshadows, deviantart.comDistant. Disembodied. I am floating adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Is there such thing as a calling? What is my purpose here on Earth? Is there even such a thing as purpose, or are we mindless drones, set upon a path of anonymity to keep the world turning? I need to know. I need to have something tangible, something I can grab hold of and focus on. I’m tired of simplistic answers. “If your heart is still beating, you have a purpose.” But what is that purpose? And I’m infinitely tired of Sunday school answers. “Your purpose is to glorify God in whatever you do.” That’s all well and good, if God doesn’t mind me spinning aimlessly along on my hamster wheel.

Glory and meaning are in all things, but I am in no way convinced that just anything will do as a purpose. After all, I’ve been taught that each person has a place in the body of Christ. Why then not in the scheme of the world? After all, a nose knows it is a nose. It doesn’t wonder whether it should be an eye or an ear. I wish I had a clue as to what I was meant to be, just like the nose. Instead I am amorphous. I am an anything, able to mold myself to fit whatever is needed of me. I am a jack of all trade and a master of none. I hate it.

Oh, how I envy the few who have the stroke of destiny to weave their tales for profit. I envy their comfort in grasping their purpose, their security in knowing they need only follow that path, their joy in following those dreams. I envy them while I sit anxiously spinning in my wheel, endlessly living check by check in a job I am “suited” for.

With a family and with responsibilities, I am bound by reality. Callings must needs be pushed back, if not forgotten, in the wake of necessity. Food and shelter take priority over that peace of purpose. And the wheel continues to spin. Effort and strength and will drain away. I am going nowhere despite my best efforts.

Perhaps the truth is that I feel helpless. I know my purpose. I see it each time heart strings are plucked by words I have written. I feel it each time the pen touches paper. And yet… I am helpless to follow it. Nothing died that first year of college, and everything was born, but my dreams shifted to the farthest corner of my reach.

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Then again, how else is a calling defined but through hardship? Maybe my hamster wheel is not as static as I thought. Maybe the sea around me is not quite so uncertain.