On: Rain

Many moons ago, the Marine whisked me away from the Pacific Northwest and the gray, dreary, rainy days I'd grown up with. Since that time the number of rain days I've experienced have been minimal. Especially since we've lived in the desert. I can count on one hand the number of days it's rained at our current home in the four years we've been here. 

Today included. 

Now, a lot of people love the rain and rejoice whenever it graces us with its wetness. 

Me, I'm the opposite. 

Days when it rains are longer, more depressing, and I often feel like Bane from Batman--or possibly the Wicked Witch of the West. It's possible it could melt me if I get trapped outside in it. 

Rain in my opinion is fine at night, while I'm sleeping, as long as all signs of it are gone by the first rays of light in the morning. 

And, that seems to happen even less than the rain. 

How do you feel about rain? What about snow? Are you a sun worshiper or do you rejoice in the moisture and change of rain?

R.S.

On: Life in the Baby Making Lane

Things are a lot different this time around than they were when I was carrying the Munchkin. I don't have half as much time to lounge around and do nothing. I haven't decided if this is a blessing or a curse. Most likely it is both.

I'm starting to make lists for the Belly Munchkin's arrival. Whether I'll actually ever manage to check anything off those lists is yet to be seen. I have however, been able to squeeze some time in for weekly yoga. Not as much as I managed before I started carrying around an additional person, but at least it is still something. I've also recently started attending an prenatal aqua-fitness class designed specifically for my friend and I by the director and assistant director of the pool I worked at pre-pregnancy.

It's been nice getting back into the water, even if that meant finding a swimsuit to fit around my expanding middle. I guess, out here in the middle of the desert, near a military base where the number one past time seems to be procreating, they don't actually find it necessary to offer maternity anything. I guess they just expect those women who often times jump from pregnancy to pregnancy to walk around naked while they're gestating.

That's a thought for another day, I'm sure.

I've got the goal of producing two books this year, and I haven't really started working on anything at all, because I seem to only have the ability to power one brain at a time, and since growing a brain is very important, my thoughts have been jumbled and not wholly useful in the world of my writing career. I've been tossing around ideas, and some how I know everything will find a way of working out.

I would love to hear what is going on in my dear readers' lives.

R.S.

On Hitting Thirty

Last week I hit the big 3-0.

A lot of people worry about leaving their twenties and growing older.

Amazingly, I don't.

Being thirty doesn't feel any different than being twenty-nine did, and twenty-nine didn't feel any different than twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

In fact, being 'older' hasn't meant much to me since I hit 21, and even that didn't have a huge affect on me.

This decade though, is going to be different.

I have great plans for my thirties.

* Publish the wonderful stories running through my head.
* Watch, participate, and enjoy my daughter as she grows up.
* Graduate from college.
* Read amazing novels, both YA and Adult.
* Live life to the fullest and love with all of my heart.
* Take each day as it comes and know if the day didn't go the way I planned there is always another day.
* Be young at heart and always learn from the youth around me.

The people I love and hold dear to me, celebrated in my tiny home in the middle of the desert, and it was great. We played Clue, drank rum and coke, and laughed.

We laughed a lot.

That's what turning thirty is to me.

It's life.

It's experiences.

It's beautiful and wonderful.

And it's me.

I am thirty, and I am happy with that.

What age are you looking forward to or dreading? What was your favorite age? I'd love to know.

R.S.

On Fight Scenes and Death

The first things I ever wrote were of darkness and death. Fights filled with smoke, sweat and blood. Terror and torture so detailed the reader was sucked in and had to fight beside the hero to get back out.

The hero always overcomes the circumstances, no matter how brutal and mentally damaging it could be.

After all, it's fiction. If it were real life I wouldn't want any part of it.

Some days the words of violence and battle flow like a river after the Spring Thaw.

Today is not one of those days.

The last week my stream has been more like a wash in the desert. Dry and cracking.

I'm two chapters from the end of the first book in my YA series. The same one I thought I'd finished a month ago, only to decide it had ended too abruptly. I guess that's why it's best to put it away for a while and come back to it later.

At the rate I'm going, I'll still be two chapters from the end when the Munchkin turns four..and I turn... well, I'll get older too.

This is unacceptable to me.

I live for the violence--interspersed with happiness, love, and sexual tension--but over all, I look forward to writing the battles.

Power amazes me.

Strength enthralls me.

I blame it on being married to a Marine--my very own Super Hero.

I've never been to a war zone, but I can write a scene like I'd been next to a Marine on the front lines.

Smoke burns my eyes as it blows on the wind, the copper scent of spilled blood clogs my sinuses, and the gritty  taste of desert sand fills my mouth. Gunfire rings in my ears, and the weight of my gear drags at my exhausted body.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me awake.

So, why then, can I not write the final battle of the book? It's not even a huge battle just the conclusion to the minor problems of the first part of the story.

It should be a cake walk.

It isn't.

Does anyone have any suggestions? I'm open to them.

What do you most enjoy writing? What do you do when the words don't come?

R.S.