Sunday Super Surprise... seriously

Aloha,

I must say it takes a lot to render me somewhat incapacitated in the speech department, but this is where I find myself at this exact moment....

I've been, like so many others, working hard on my blog; trying to get the word out that another Blogger has jumped on the overcrowded bus heading to the "Blog is here."

My First Award :)

(Why is it "here?" Where was it?)

But, apparently all the wriggling and "Scuse me's" that I've done in the last few months to get a window seat have worked!

This morning as I surfed

is it still cool to "surf?"

...around, I discovered I'd won a "Great Comments Award" on Leigh Covington's blog (via an award she received from David Powers King.)

While on David's blog I saw an awesome comment from Alex J. Cavanaugh who, as I clicked over to tell him so, had put me up for a special mention on his latest Insecure Writer's Support Group.

My point: I'm not bragging. Seriously, you only have to see the picture of me with the Boppy on my head... I'm just flabbergasted and want to throw out some major thanks to Leigh, David and Alex.

More importantly, I'm sharing this with *you* especially if you are discouraged or feeling non-positive writing thoughts - please don't.

Monster Munch ROCK :)

I didn't win an Amazon gift card, a re-gifted book or even a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch, but my hard work and effort has paid off a little... and that's what's going to keep me motivated for a long time.

Please keep putting yourself out there - you have a story to tell and we want to hear it as well!

What's in your wallet? Earned any Motivational Points lately?

You Know You're A Parent When... (#5) Of Men and Boppy's

Aloha,

You know You’re A Parent When…

Don't Tickle Him, Elmo!

Your fatherly protection skills kick in when you rush to save Son. No. 2 from the open jaws of a fierce, renegade Elmo.

This happens only twenty-four hours before you’re called into action for an assist by the doctors who helped deliver Son. No. 3.

OK, fair enough, so they only asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord, but that’s like a really important job.

Feeling like a million bucks, these two events lead to a renewal of one’s Man Card while strutting around and singing stuff like “Oh Yeah, Who’s Your Daddy” (and other grown-up songs from yesteryear.)

In the midst of all this manliness, you nearly stumble over a small round package. No, it’s not exactly round, it’s more U-shaped. Looking at it from different sides, it’s some new cushion made by a Boppie.

What’s a “Boppie?

You solve the mystery of the mysterious “Boppie” when, needing a pillow, you remove the cushion thing with BOPPY all over the packaging. Discarding all manuals or paperwork
like a good male
you step back and examine the pillow/cushion thing on the floor. Kicking it a few times, why you begin to think it might actually be comfortable.

Something is still wrong, though…It looks like a travel pillow for Andre the Giant, but feels like a soft cushion, but is too high to use as a normal pillow…what do I do with the Boppy?

The pink hospital has no Wi-Fi – therefore no Pandora (Internet radio) – but does, however, have *Rock Star* nurses, doctors and awesome support staff :)

Under normal circumstances, you are incapable of writing in a silent environment, but you shrug off the minor inconvenience of no music. There's a TV, which is better than nothing.

However, after many spread-through-the-day hours of cable news talking Iowan, Pawn Stars talking idols and House talking iodine, you realize nothing is getting done – except for the crick in your neck.

Switching off the life-sucking device, you power up the ‘puter, and struggle to write in the stillness. Sadly, with no tunes to motivate you, the words dry up on the page like an Irish Pub on March 18.

Hang on a second, there’s still hope… your laptop! It came with a folder of sample music!
Hooray!

Surely there must be a few hours of sample music to listen to… maybe a couple hundred tunes to write to, dozens of genres to choose from…

There are three tunes.
Total.
Three.
With no lyrics.
That last eleven minutes and twenty-seven seconds.
Even when you shuffle
and turn repeat ON.

Driven nuts by your own mismanagement of music, the tears slowly fall down your ruggedly handsome face.
Dude, seriously, this is how you want to begin the New Year?
OK, fine.

The tears slowly fall…down the undulating valleys of your unshaven, non-rugged face.
Glancing toward the spare batteries in the computer bag, you weep for the lonely iPod
with 2,600 songs…
lying atop the kitchen cabinet.

On a happy note, you finally figure out how to use the Boppy and with that... all’s well that ends well.

             GOT BOPPY?               
(Photo Credit: Son No. 1 :)

IWSG: Me, Myself and I - We Insecure Three

Aloha,

Well, if it’s the first Wednesday of the month, it must be Insecure Writer’s Support Group time and thanks to, er I mean *many* thanks to U.S. Ninja CPT. Alex J. Cavanaugh esq.

This is my first venture into the wilds of IWSG, and considering I had a kinda busy weekend, I *know* I’m insecure about several things – but find it so hard to self-analysis.

Hmmm, listening to Oceanlab’s “If I Can Fly” brings forth an idea…

(Ten, tinkering minutes later…)

Right then, having invoked the Irish “Law of Tree,” I’m going to set up an OOBE (Out-of-Body-Experience) and interview me, myself and I

Having an OOBE…

Isn’t that some sort of instrument?

…basically means myself will float above the keyboard and interview ME while I watch for any trouble. Because I’m isn’t asking myself questions, there should be no problem with ME answering.

(Note: As a double-blind precaution, myself dictated the questions while I stood by as an impartial witness watching ME.)

Yet confused?

(WARNING: Of course, like any other OOBE, this was a highly developed and terribly scientific experiment. As a writing professional driving on a closed course, I would ask that you please not try this at home.) 

Myself: Ahem! Thank you gentlemen for agreeing to this short interview and the topic is “writing insecurities.”

ME: You’re welcome.

I: Agree.

Myself: A question for ME. Why did you start writing this post at 4 a.m. when you’re supposed to be tweaking your book proposal?

ME: That’s a very good question. Thank you for asking it. It’s Wednesday, and I promised to blog Monday, Wednesday and Fridays. So even though I am sleepy, I Must. Follow. Through. With. Schedule…zzzz

 (Off to one side, I whispers to ME that it’s alright to skip a blog post, nobody will be mad.)

Myself: I have a follow up question…

(Looks over top of newspaper) I: Do?

ME: Do? Do what?

I: Not much apparently – you seem kinda scared to push through to the next level.

You: Hey, don’t even include me in this conversation.

ME: What did I do?

I: Did nothing, it’s all You.

I looked at ME as myself floated away into nothingness.

“Confusion reigns… My work here is done…”

                                    ###           

How the above helps anyone is beyond ME but myself and I had fun writing this little muse that could :)

Most days I know I’m not writing pages that’ll morph into the next Great American Novel, but I’ll gladly take those days of writing something (rather than nothing) while waiting for the days – you know the ones – when you’re so inspired that you’d remove the space bar, break it in two and use it to keep the eyes open for…just…one…more…page…

And, isn’t that the point?

Isn’t the “high” of a compliment from a stranger or a feeling of self-satisfaction in a page well done the thing that keeps us from going nuts during the “bad days?”

(It is for me anyway:)

My final thoughts and a new theme for 2012:

You Know You're a Parent.... (#4)

Aloha and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You Know You’re A Parent When…

You write a countdown letter to your newly born infant son...

Dear No. 3 Son,

It’s 11:47 p.m. HST on New Year’s Eve, 2011 and I’m writing this in the midst of a pink hospital overlooking much of Honolulu City and County.

Can't a guy just get a little sleep around here?

 11:50: While things are rocking and rolling in downtown Waikiki, up here the corridors are empty, doors are closed and all is quiet at this medical behemoth. (This is the quietest New Year’s Eve I can ever remember – but your arrival makes it the most exciting, and one I will never forget.)

11:52: Sitting close to you – my sleeping nine-hour-old son – your mother and I whisper and glance over at a muted, five-hour-old cable rerun counting down to midnight at Times Square.

11:53: The moon is a bright, white half-smile in the clear dark sky. This I discover only because a nurse stops by to say we should open the window blinds and catch the upcoming fireworks show.

11:57: I open a bottle of contraband – justifying the scandalous breach in protocol by telling myself if there was ever a time to have a sip, just a sip, mind you of something that tastes suspiciously like champagne – it’s today, Dec. 31, your Birth Day.

00:03: Mama and I spend a few minutes counting our blessings that you and her are both well and that this C-section was the easiest of the three.

00:05: We raise our plastic glasses to the memory of Uncle Junior who died exactly twelve years before you were born. Your birth means December 31 won’t have to be a day reflecting on loss.

00:07: Grandma, Grandpa and Special Guest Star, Uncle Jerry, call to wish us a Happy New Year. (Grandma says there are three glasses with twelve grapes each for when we bring you home Monday – I’ll explain that particular family tradition once you’re old enough. It involves wearing a red shirt and jumping up and down twelve timesJ)

00:17: For about fifteen minutes, the entire sky – from Waikiki to Honolulu international Airport and beyond was filled with thousands of fireworks from hundreds of groups and families.

Wow, what a great show and a cool way to celebrate your birthday!

01:53: Mama is sleeping and I’m looking at an old friend, the hospital blue chair, the one that opens – somehow – to a single bed. The sky is clear again, and it’s time to go to bed, but I just wanted to say Happy New Year, son. May you dream big, live large and be the person you are meant to be.

Happy New Year!

P.S. Another silly reason Mama and I were happy to see you today… your timely arrival means we’ll get a tax break for 2011. (We promise to use the extra funds to pick out the finest diapers and wipes money can buy at CostcoJ)