Submitting My First Story

My step-mom (my other mother) cut out an article from one of her magazines. The glossy page was flat and new, barely handled. The first thing I do was read it. It was for a short story contest. R and my dad were talking which I had been a part of the conversation but was distancing myself from it because of my deep focus on the article. (It was nice to have R home after seven months of basic training.) A smile spread across my face. I smiled because my step-mom took the time to think of me and my writing. Her thoughtfulness really made me happy. Sometimes I don’t think about it, but people do believe in me. I was determined to write something for the contest.

I folded the glossy paper in half and placed it in my purse, where I knew where to find it. Throughout the course of the week, I took it out of my purse, read it, folded it back up and put it back in my purse. I carried it around with me wherever I went. The more I handled it the glossiness wore off and the page wrinkled, like a well loved teddy.

I went onto my computer many times and dabbled with some ideas. None of them spoke to me. I was looking for that WOW factor. Without that WOW factor, the story wasn’t right. But I wrote. I didn’t stop. Then I got fed up. I took breaks. I deleted paragraphs, pages even. I walked away completely. But I came back.

Then life decided to test me and the rest of the family. We’re tested every day, but sometimes life wants to throw a wrench into a running engine just to see if we’re paying attention. R and I were ready to move to Florida. Boxes were packed and the movers were coming that Friday.

Midweek, R and I woke up to plans for our first date in seven months. Our plans were put on hold when I saw my mom (the mother who gave me life) curled up in pain on her bed. She told us later that our faces were twisted with worry. We rushed her to the ER and she was admitted, X-rayed, and told she had a broken arm. It would be a week before an orthopedic doctor would “have the time” to do surgery on her arm. R had to leave the Monday after the movers came in order to make to Florida to report to the base on time.

R left as scheduled and I stayed for another week to help my mom. The numbing separation returned, but it would be a short one this time. My goodbyes were stretched out to another week and it made it harder on everyone. I saw how much my mom, dad, and step-mom really meant to me.

I drove for four days, from California to Florida, and at a stop I rummaged through my purse. I pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d reread so many times. It was more crumbled from the last time I saw it because it had been living at the bottom of my purse waiting to get some air. I unfolded it and smoothed out the creases. I traveled the rest of the way with ideas for a story.

When I arrived in Florida I spent the first week putting together the apartment, waiting for the movers, waiting for the cable guy, waiting… You know, this whole year had been a bunch of moments of waiting. I was used to waiting. I didn’t mind waiting some more.

R and I finally got settled. We finally went on our date, and plenty more. And finally I was able to sit down at my computer and write. The ideas I developed on my cross country trip were put into words. I spent several days just writing. I didn’t bother to edit at first. The words were raw and there were a plethora of errors. It took a few more weeks to edit. I got fed up. I took breaks. I walked away completely. I ignored it for a day or two. Yesterday, I came back to it. With a fresh mind, I worked on it, determined to turn it into a WOW factor.

By nighttime, I had finished. In addition to my editing, I sent my resume to at least six job postings. Then from the other room, R calls to me, “Log onto MSN.” I did. Then he sent me link after link of possible job offers. I was so happy that he scanned the ads with crisp eyes and found job offers that I had glazed over during my search that day. He believed in me.

R’s faith gave me the confidence I needed to submit my short story. I looked over the 3,484 words I had written, attached it to the e-mail and clicked SEND.

The story is out there ready to be looked over by a panel of judges, one of whom is a favorite author of mine. There is more waiting ahead. Patience, be my friend?

Even through all the wrinkles in life, good things can come out of them.

A Chance of Rain

Rainy day…

My thoughts scramble around with the ideas that I don’t have what it takes to I’m a confident, talented woman and I can do whatever I want. I’ve remained in the dark for so long that I’ve allowed myself to not really believe I can go for something I want. Whether it is in a social situation or looking ahead in my career, I’ve become a hermit too afraid to come out of her shell. For many things I’ve obtained that “can do” attitude, like finishing college. With that attitude I have proven to myself that I can work hard and that I have something special inside me.

One rejection after the other, I being to doubt and then doubt some more. Those countless no’s have blocked me from moving forward. Those who’ve told me no aren’t to blame. I’ve learned it would be wrong of me to blame others for what hasn’t happened for me-yet. I’m accountable. I’m accountable for being stuck in my tracks. I’m accountable for not believing. I’m accountable for not thriving.

I’ve taken some first steps these past few weeks. I’ve applied, applied, applied. Yes, it’s tiresome filling out your name, date, address, etc. repeatedly. My hand cramps from filling out paper applications. My eyes glaze over from applying to positions online. Yet, they are steps-my steps-to stepping out the front door of the apartment and facing the world.

I’ve taken further steps, interviewing. My first interview was a bomb. I went in dressed professionally, but my attitude repelled confidence. I carried on through the interview with sweaty palms and forehead. My voice was high and shaky, but I kept on going. Afterwards, I felt great! I was horrible, but I still felt like I accomplished something. That day was a rainy day, too, just like today.

My second interview went better. I faked a positive attitude. But, I noticed halfway through the interview that all my nerves had focused in on my hands. I noticed I still held a pen in my hands, the pen I had filled out the application with. My hands twirled the pen around and around. “How long have I been doing this,” I asked myself silently. I stopped and placed the pen in my lap, still keeping eye contact with the lady across from me. When it was over, I felt good! I could picture myself in the position. Again, I had doubts.

Just a few days ago, I had a third interview. (And now I’m thinking about that cliché. You know what I mean.) I drove to the town center. I had left early enough to arrive at the interview on time. I followed the directions I was given, but I got lost. The place was beautiful, but confusing. There were right turns and left turns. All the stores looked the same, trendy and petite. I blinked at all the white buildings that surrounded me, confused. A tear was about to spring from behind my eyeballs. I really didn’t want to miss a chance. I felt like giving up.

I drove around, listening to instinct. When I rely on instinct, it usually helps me out. When my brain said to turn left, I did. When my brain said to turn right, I did. When my brain said the store is on the left side of the street, it was. I read the sign above the store. I screamed, “Thank you!” Then I looked for a place to park. Every spot was taken. I looked at my clock inside the car. Five minutes to two o’clock. I had five minutes to find a spot to park and then haul my tail into the interview.

The only parking I found was several blocks away. I dashed across the parking lot in uncomfortable ballet-style shoes, rushed across the street, and power walked several blocks. I made it to the store. My hand reached for the handle on the glass door. For a split second I looked inside. The store was small, trendy, and welcoming. The walls were white with built in glass shelves and florescent lights illuminated the shoes that were on display. I opened the door and walked in. I greeted the sales associate and filled out an application. I really felt at home.

The interview was 100% better than the last two. I remembered how I used to interview for jobs during my time in school. Then, I was more optimistic and willing and developing my confidence. Now, I’ve let that confidence slip after hearing so many no’s. That day I dug for that confidence that was deep inside me and tired to hang unto it until the interview was over. Surprisingly, some of the confidence hung around afterwards.

I’m looking at this move as a way to reinvent myself… Wait, no. I’m looking at it as a way to improve myself. I guess there’s nothing wrong with the person that I am, although I think so at different times in my life. I just need to rebuild some of myself back up. How long will that take? I don’t know.

I do know that as I look outside at the rain, I find it cleansing. I hope some of this rain washes away some of my doubts and negativity.

A Little Introduction

I scope out my new place. I’ve spent the past three weeks walking through the rooms of my 1090 sq. ft. apartment, familiarizing myself with each closet and corner. Little by little it becomes more familiar and soon will become home.

Florida is a big difference from my little desert town back in California. Instead of my car being caked in sand it gets a natural shower almost daily by big fat raindrops. It’s a nice change to look out my window and see the pavement glistening with water instead of with sand after a windstorm.

I do love my little desert town, but I needed a change. And my husband, R joining the navy last year was a big change. I spent this last year in my hometown saying goodbye while R finished with basic training. The separation was numbing, but at the same time I was able to look at myself and at our future. I took a look at my accomplishments, which my mother will tell you are a lot, but in truth, I don’t think I’ve accomplished much at all.

So, about that change…

I’ve spent my adult life going to school and dreaming. Dreaming is good and all, but what about doing? As I look around, my new apartment and the green trees swaying outside my window announce to me, “Do something.”

Writing as been my passion, so why not just go for it? My life in the classroom is over. My real life is waiting for me to get started. Experiencing things will only enrich my life. Why do I continue to be afraid? A new move challenges me to get a life.

Here are three ways I know how to GET A LIFE:

1) Write every day.
2) Interview! Find that job! WORK WORK WORK!!! There is no better way to gain experience than through working.
3) Submit my writing, no matter what.